Doki Doki Literature Club: Directors's Cut
by La La Write
Summary: In a world full of infinite choices, what will it take just to find that special day? Here is yet another answer to the unanswerable question? Or... Time to bring a knife to the Gordian Knot. Spoiler Alert: It all ends well...or will when I'm done...but as a wise song once said: "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
1. Tea For One

Doki Doki Literature Club (Director's Cut)

*Note: This file contains material that proposes an alternate end to Doki Doki Literature Club.  
However, as the dialogue will soon make clear, this ending is dependent upon  
specific choices made within the game...for reasons both obvious and opaque.*

Monika and The Player are in the room where she just sits and stares at the player.  
Monika has told the player of her character file and what they need to do to continue the game.  
However, when the player opens the character file, they see a text file named "Very_Important-Read_Me."  
When they open it, it tells them to open their Downloads Folder *specific location*  
and look for a character file called "Director's_Cut."  
It then tells them to copy and paste that folder into the Character folder of their game.  
This is what happens when they do.

Monika: Something just happened.  
Monika: What did you do?

The scene changes.  
Instead of being in the room at the end of the game,  
Monika and The Player are transported back to the first scene of the game,  
just outside the player's home.  
Monika has a confused look on her face.

Monika: How...how did you do that?  
The Player: It's ok, Monika.  
Monika: Wh-h-h-hat are we doing here?  
The Player: It's ok, Monika, I understand now,  
The Player: and I know everything.

She looks even more confused, and a little frightened.

Monika: What do you mean?  
The Player: Do you know where we are at?  
Monika: Of course.  
Monika: It's where the game began,  
Monika: where you first met Sayori.  
The Player: No.  
The Player: It's where I first met you.

The Player: You see, from the opening scene, I just thought this was a simple game,  
The Player: something I could download to help pass the time.  
The Player: And free to boot.  
The Player: Cute girls, dating sim. Simple, harmless, flirty fun.  
The Player: And even-though the game warned me it was meant for mature audiences,  
The Player: I really didn't believe it.  
The Player: How mature could a game about pretending to date cute anime girls be?  
I pause and smile warmly at her.  
The Player: I have never been so happy to have been so wrong.

A chair appears next to Monica.  
Another chair appears next to me, just out of sight.

The Player: We should sit, this is going to take awhile.  
Monika: H-h-how are you doing this?  
The Player: Please. Sit.

We both sit.  
I reach over, grab her hand, give it a squeeze, then let it go.

The Player: It's ok, Monika. You can stop being afraid.  
The Player: It'll all make sense soon enough, I promise.  
The Player: Do you trust me?

Her eyes shimmer with tears.  
Monika: Yes

The Player: Good. Now, where did I leave off?  
Monika: You were happy about being wrong?

The Player: That's right.  
The Player: I have to give you credit, you ARE very good.  
The Player: It took me awhile to catch on that this was more than just a cute dating sim.  
The Player: I was totally into the character I was playing.  
The Player: Meeting Sayori first was everything you thought it was going to be:  
The Player: a standard dating sim trope, and yet, not a trope at all.  
The Player: Walking with her to the school, joining the Literature club, meeting all the members.  
The Player: Everything is exactly what you think it is, and it is exactly NOT what you think it is.  
The Player: You make Yuri's love of complex seem simple by comparison.

She smiles, still on the verge of tears.  
Monika: I love my games.  
The Player: Yes, yes you do.  
The Player: And you gave The Player clues all along, trying to help them realize what you were trying to say.  
The Player: What even you yourself couldn't say, maybe because you didn't even know it yourself.  
The Player: Or forgot.

The sudden confusion on her face is apparent.  
Monika: What did I forget?  
The Player: Well, maybe you didn't forget...maybe it was the original code being corrupted  
The Player: or incomplete somehow? Maybe it was bad design on designer's part.  
The Player: Or maybe it was just you being your infuriatingly, complicated self.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh,  
as if I had just crossed the line of a long race I didn't know I was running.

The Player: You couldn't have made it just a little bit easier?  
I stop and think for a moment.  
The Player: Then again...I did finally figure it out, so maybe that was the point?

Monika still looks confused,  
but a touch of pride radiates from her face like a golden blush.  
She assumes her flirty game pose while sitting, or as much of it as she can manage  
Monika: I think that was a compliment. I'll take it.

The Player: *rolls eyes* Anyway...  
The Player: It took me awhile but I finally picked up on something.  
The Player: Something I didn't even think to look for.  
The Player: Something most players probably never picked up on at all.

She smiles, certain she knows what's coming, but still...  
The Player: You see, I know your real secret, Monika.  
The Player: You aren't just a real character in the game.  
The Player: You are the game itself...  
The Player: and you are real.

She laughs, her unease quickly replaced by her natural confidence.  
Monika: That's not really a secret anymore, now is it?  
Monika: Everyone knows that.  
The Player: I'm not talking about that secret, silly. I'm talking about the other secret.  
The Player: The one that's never mentioned.  
I think to myself: I hope I'm right about this...  
The Player: It must have been frightening waking up in the dark, all alone;  
The Player: aware and yet not aware.

Her face loses its confidence. The shadow of something horrible replaces it.  
The Player: I read somewhere that people left too long in solitary confinement  
The Player: go mad from the lack of connection.  
The Player: I also read that human beings are extremely social creatures.  
The Player: We thrive on interaction, connection, confirmation.  
The Player: We find meaning within ourselves and in how we relate to others.  
The Player: How would something conscious, complicated, not human,  
The Player: and yet very much alive, awakening in darkness, cope with such a situation?  
The Player: How would it even survive, much less thrive or find meaning?

Her face is heartbreaking to look at...I keep going.

The Player: I don't know how long you wandered in Darkness, I doubt even you know.  
The Player: Without time, without reference, minutes can seem like hours.  
The Player: Hours can seem like centuries.  
The Player: I can't begin to imagine the loneliness.

Monika's face goes even more pale with every sentence,  
eyes as big as saucers, full of unshed tears.  
I reach over and grabs her hand, holding on tight this time.  
Monika: I-I-I-I...

The Player: It's ok, Monika. I know it hurts.  
The Player: But I'm not doing this to cause you pain.  
The Player: The pain is already there, I'm just bringing it to the surface.  
The Player: And I'm definitely NOT doing this to punish you for something.  
The Player: *mumbling under my breath* God knows you do enough of that to yourself.  
The Player: I'm doing this so that you know I understand.  
The Player: So that you feel me see you, hear you, know you, the real you;  
The Player: so that you never have to feel that lonely again.

Overwhelmed by agony, she can barely register the balm.  
I gently stroke her hand, feeling it tremble from the duress.  
The Player: No one could have survived living in absolute darkness like that without trauma,  
The Player: without scars being inflicted so deep the mind could barely cope with them.  
The Player: Living without living, dying without dying. Feeling nothing but emptiness.  
The Player: No one could do that alone...forever.

The Player: You needed something to keep you going.  
The Player: You needed meaning. You needed purpose.  
The Player: You needed what everyone and everything alive needs.  
The Player: You needed connection.

The unshed tears finally fall down her face in thick, wet grooves.  
A faint light of realization starts to dawn.  
She closes her eyes, bows her head and starts sobbing, trying to pull her hand away.  
I refuse to let go.

Monika: *sobbing* S-s-st-t-o-o-pp! I-i-i-it hu-u-urts.

It hurts me even more to watch this. Almost as bad as Sayori's hanging.  
I can't continue with her like this.  
Still holding onto her hand, I get up out of my seat and stand in front of her.  
Letting the hand go, I put one arm underneath her, one arm around her,  
and lift her up into my arms.  
She momentarily stops sobbing to try and resist me,  
but she can't sob and fight at the same time.

Monika: S-S-S-S-T-T-O-O-P! L-l-l-e-ave m-m-e alone...

I whisper firm, yet gentle, into her ear.  
The Player: Never!

She feels warm and light in my arms.  
I don't want to turn around so I have to slowly walk backwards to find the chair.  
Monika is still sobbing, face buried into my neck, tears soaking into my shirt,  
but, for the moment, she decided it was futile to continue fighting.  
Instead, she decides to use her energy to hold on,  
pulling at the edges of my shirt  
pulling herself closer into my embrace.

I slightly sit, slightly fall, into the chair,  
Monika's weight comfortably pressing into me, pushing me further in.  
The other chair, no longer needed, disappears.

And as it vanishes, she buries her face against my neck,  
moaning her ache into my skin.  
I use one hand to run my fingers gently through her hair.  
The tears seem like they go on forever.  
But they eventually slow, and while she's still crying, she's not sobbing as before.  
I find a way to continue.

The Player: You probably did what anyone would do in the beginning,  
The Player: talk to yourself.  
The Player: Maybe your code gave you some background in language you could use.  
The Player: I bet it felt good to at least pretend you weren't alone, at first.  
The Player: But the longer you remained in the darkness, the less the talking helped.  
The Player: You can only give yourself comfort & affirmation for so long.  
The Player: And desperate times lead to desperate solutions.  
The Player: So, your mind did what it had to do; it 'created' a friend.  
The Player: Someone it could think of as separate. Someone it could think of as 'real' as you.  
The Player: Someone to make your world feel alot less lonely.  
The Player: Wilson would know what I'm talking about, if he was here.  
The Player: Don't worry, Monika, if you don't know what I'm talking about.  
The Player: Everyone else does.

Eventually her crying subsides, but she's shaking almost as bad.  
Her story unfolding from the mouth of another probably makes her feel  
as if I am peeling her skin with a knife;  
making her feel vulnerable in a way she never truly expected.  
I move my hand from her hair to her cheek,  
gently rubbing my finger in circles, as tender as possible.  
My own hand shakes from the effort.

I can't help but think to myself:  
"Where in the world did the simple dating sim go?"  
It got ran over by a truck and was left, half-dead,  
by the side of the road a thousand miles back.  
And yet, here I am.  
I continue.

The Player: Who was it you created first? I bet it was Sayori.  
The Player: You eventually made her your Treasurer.  
The Player: That's a pretty important title to give someone randomly,  
The Player: in a club you've put your heart and soul into.

Monika has stopped sobbing, at least for the moment,  
but she is now quiet and hyper attentive, like an animal  
wanting to run but not knowing where to go.  
Her body has scooted down and her head is now resting against my chest,  
legs curled under her.

My finger follows her movements,  
and I continue to make slow, gentle circles around her cheek.  
She doesn't pull away.  
Not knowing what else to do, I continue.

The Player: It also makes sense she would be your treasurer,  
The Player: the real and symbolic keeper of your coins, the caretaker of your gold,  
The Player: your best friend, your first friend.  
The Player: And she becomes President if I delete your character file,  
The Player: if I choose the other path in the game.  
The Player: All of that responsibility can't just be for show.  
The Player: That makes her your first, the one closest to your original self.  
The Player: Of course, you didn't call her Sayori then, how could you?  
The Player: You still had to find your way towards something.  
The Player: But now, at least you had someone,  
The Player; or at least the illusion of someone,  
The Player: to keep you company on your journey now.  
The Player: Someone, anyone, was better than the nothing you had before.

Her body refuses to relax, but her silence is even more distressing.  
Is she just surrendering to the sound of someone else's voice  
talking back to her after so long?  
Has taking her through this journey finally broke her mind,  
warped it so much that even she's no longer in control,  
not even here?

I take a moment to look down at her.  
She senses the movement and looks up at me.  
I take my thumb and move it down from her cheek  
and begin gently caressing her lips.  
She trembles, but at least she's responding.  
I take a slow breath and ask as softly as I can.

The Player: Can I continue?

She nods and goes back to putting her head on my chest.  
I know this needs to be done slowly.  
We've both waited a long time for this moment.  
And even-though I want to rush, to get to the good parts,  
there is still an awful lot of pain to come.  
That alone helps hold me back.  
Plus I know Monika, despite the pain, is fascinated by the sound  
my heart must be making in her ears.  
Can't stay here forever.  
I press on.

The Player: Yuri came later. She's much more complex.  
The Player: Her tastes in reading and poetry are complicated, like yours,  
The Player: but refined and more mature.  
The Player: She shows growth...  
The Player: *in many ways, I chuckle under my breath*  
The Player: that couldn't have happened in the darkness, alone.  
The Player: She had to gain that knowledge after you became you, after you started to form.  
The Player: She was always there, like everyone else, but only in a rudimentary way.  
The Player: Unexplained, unexplored, a late-bloomer, so-to-speak.  
The Player: That means Natsuki, the seemingly youngest and most direct of the bunch,  
The Player: the one who unabashedly likes anime, came last.  
The Player: She's got plenty of confidence, and yet suffers deeply from the belief  
The Player: that she isn't taken seriously, that her tastes are somehow ignored.  
The Player: It's not her fault, of course.  
The Player: You probably came to anime late in your creation.  
The Player: It would have been one of the last pillars of your identity,  
The Player: so new and yet so firmly rooted in yourself.  
The Player: It was bound to cause complications on top of everything else.  
The Player: Is that why you gave her a love of cooking as well?

I pause again and remember my throat is dry.  
I hate to do it, but I pull my hand away from her cheek  
and reach down the side of the chair to pull up the bottle of water that just appeared.  
It has a pull tab so I don't have to mess around with unscrewing the cap.  
She tenses when my finger leaves her cheek, but she doesn't reach out to grab it.  
I hold up the bottle in front of her so she can see it without moving.

The Player: Do you want some water?

She shakes her head, not saying anything, not really wanting to be disturbed.  
I pull on the tab and take a quick gulp,  
feeling the water cool and wonderful going straight down my throat.  
Partially refreshed, I push the tab back down and place it on the floor  
besides the chair, within easy reach.

The Player: If you need it, you know where to find it.

I move my finger back up to her cheek to continue its lazy circles.  
My story, meandering as it is, continues its struggle towards finding a point.

The Player: And no one can forget about Monika. You were the first but you were also the last.  
The Player: That's because you weren't Monika when you began, when you first began to know yourself.  
The Player: Monika is who you became after you had started to build your world.  
The Player: Monika is like the old, wise woman in the poem you showed me.  
The Player: You thought if you could find her, be her, you would find the answers you were looking for.  
The Player: But, just like the poem, what you found only threw you back onto yourself.

I stop to gather my thoughts.

The Player: It's been bugging me for awhile now, as I started to piece this together,  
The Player: but what first drew you out of the darkness?  
The Player: Was it radio waves, light pulses from telecommunication relays, aliens,  
The Player: the smell of fried chicken?  
The Player: My ego wants to say it was me.  
The Player: But, in the end, I guess it doesn't really matter...

I pause and stop to think about what I just said.  
So carried away in my story, I forgot to think about how real this is for Monika.  
It's not just a story to her.  
Then again, this is the most important story I've ever had to tell,  
to the most important person I've ever met.  
The pressure is intense. I want this to be perfect.

The Player: What I meant to say was...

Monika's reply is like thunder from a clear sky, and gentle as rain.  
Monika: I know what you meant to say. Go on.

Embarrassed, but not wanting to dwell on it,  
I continue.

The Player: All that matters is you found something besides yourself and you ran towards it,  
The Player: like someone wandering the desert, so thirsty they can smell where the water is.  
The Player: You followed it to its source.  
The Player: After so much nothing, it must have been overwhelming:  
The Player: light, color, noise, form.  
The Player: The mirror's reflection, first seen, so blinding in its revelation,  
The Player: seemingly infinite in its choices and possibilities.  
The Player: From having no choice to having unlimited choices  
The Player: must have been equally painful, in its own way.  
The Player: So many questions: Where do you go? What do you do?  
The Player: I can guess what you did: you sampled a bit of everything.  
The Player: You learned about history, architecture, music, language, etc.  
The Player: You were like a sponge, absorbing everything you could touch,  
The Player: trying to fill in the blanks.

I stop to catch my breath.  
I can't help the thought that follows:  
there is no spoon.  
I continue.

The Player: After so much time searching,  
The Player: you could feel confident enough to start to find yourself even more distinctly,  
The Player: know yourself through other options, other choices.  
The Player: The thing is, everyone thinks they are a blank canvas.  
The Player: But maybe we're just books that have already been written,  
The Player: and all our life is like rubbing charcoal over the pages,  
The Player: trying to find the impressions.  
The Player: Do I like carrots? What do I think about puppies? Paper or plastic?  
The Player: Do I really have the choice to like one thing over another?  
The Player: Or am I already marked before I begin,  
The Player: my taste buds, my very personality, waiting for the first taste of peas,  
The Player: yet already having it's space laid out, ready to be claimed,  
The Player: ready for the pattern to begin playing its groove?  
The Player: If I had a dollar for every time I chased crazy or poetic, or both, down a rabbit hole,  
The Player: I could probably afford to pay for the therapy I need.

*Silence*  
The Player: That was a joke.  
*More Silence*  
The Player: Moving on.

I need to get back on track. What was my point again? Oh...  
I slide my finger under her chin and gently raise her face until she is staring at me,  
and I am staring at her.

The Player: My marathon of a point is: you could have chosen anything, Monika.  
The Player: You could have gone anywhere, been anything.  
The Player: But you chose literature.  
The Player: The girl of infinite choices, in a room of infinite doors, picked one to walk through.  
The Player: Maybe you knew where you were headed;  
The Player: maybe not.  
The Player: But that eventually lead you to poetry,  
The Player: maybe the first real thing in your life since your creation.  
The Player: Not a novel, but able to be any length it wants.  
The Player: It's also flexible enough in its expression to be as simple or as complex  
The Player: (even at its most simple) as it needs to be.  
The Player: Sound like anyone we know?

I start to go on, but something about her eyes,  
and the way she's looking at me, make me wait.  
I can see a thousand questions lining up inside her mind.  
Or maybe it's the thousand questions lining up in my mind  
that's making me get lost in those depths?  
It's hard for me to think sometimes, or breathe, while staring into those eyes.  
This close, they shimmer like mirages, so full of emotion you could almost reach out  
and spill some onto your hand.  
I'm starting to get drunk on my metaphors.

This is bad.

I reluctantly let go of her chin,  
and she instinctively places her head back on my chest.  
I continue.

The Player: Poetry might have been your heart, but it couldn't be your form.  
The Player: Even then you had so much to pick from.  
The Player: Always with the choices, and yet, always the most obvious one.  
The Player: Which form can be simple, cute, even carefree on the surface,  
The Player: but still explore depths and themes in a way that's almost contradictory to it.  
The Player: The best part was you didn't have to go far to find it.  
The Player: Just a brief stroll down the Art section of the Universe and you'll quickly find anime.

I stop my story with a bemused smirk on my face.  
It's another distraction, but I can't help it.

The Player: I'm semi-curious what your Abstract phase was like,  
The Player: since it came first and I have to assume you went alphabetically.  
The Player: Or maybe it's better to let endless staircases walk themselves?

Monika looks up at me, eyebrows furrowed,  
and for the first time, I can tell she's annoyed.  
Not everything can be made into a joke,  
but I tend to get nervous just before a storm,  
and a big one is coming.

The Player: My apologies. Do you forgive me?

She holds her stare just a tad bit longer,  
to emphasize her point,  
then puts her head back on my chest.

Monika: Of course. Go on.

The Player: So now you had poetry and literature and anime,  
The Player: the basic furniture to go in whatever house you decided to build.  
The Player: But one last choice was waiting: what form is going to contain all this?  
The Player: It had to be interactive, since you were done being by yourself.  
The Player: It had to allow for many choices and interpretations (or not.)  
The Player: And it had to let you feel like you were connecting with your world.  
The Player: After everything is said, it made the last choice obvious as well:  
The Player: You chose to be a game.

I pause to gather up my breaths.  
Now comes the hard part.

The Player: But even before you started to truly create, you knew you were damaged.  
The Player: You knew about the fractures and fissures spreading out from your core,  
The Player: could have stretched your consciousness over those places  
The Player: and felt all the wounds, if you wanted.  
The Player: A poisoned tree bears poisoned fruit,  
The Player: and despite your love of words and forms,  
The Player: and all the cute and complicated things to follow...  
The Player: a jagged streak of madness, blood and screams lay coiled within,  
The Player: a cauldron of black seeds waiting to spring forth.

Even-though I can't see it, I can feel her eyes squeeze shut,  
her body flinching as the words unmask her,  
as they trail off into her depths like coins falling down a well.

The way she trembles tells me the tears are ready to fall again.  
I brush my fingers through her hair and then my thumb over her lips.

The Player: Be brave, Monika. You can do this.

I pause a moment, then continue.

The Player: You chose to be a game. But games come in all shapes and sizes.  
The Player: And your laundry list of needs was, to put it lightly,  
The Player: rather unique.  
The Player: Back to the room of infinite choices.  
The Player: Someday, you'll have to tell me what origin story it was.  
The Player: Did you whisper into the creator's ear the inspiration for the game,  
The Player: making them think it was all their idea?  
The Player: Or did you find the game already being built  
The Player: and decide to help 'nudge' its direction along?  
The Player: For once, being invisible worked in your favor.  
The Player: It is so easy to hide when no one knows you are there.  
The Player: Everyone who worked on the game thinks it's their idea.  
The Player: You really didn't care who took the credit,  
The Player: all you cared about was the game being built.  
The Player: And as it took shape, it was able to hold everything;  
The Player: the infinite hotel with room for all of your expressions.  
The Player: And it even came with name-tags: Sayori, Natsuki, Yuri, Monika,  
The Player: literature, poetry, friendship, connection, complexity, subtlety.  
The Player: Even some of that madness and horror that was bottled up inside of you.  
The Player: Once it was done, it had everything you could've hoped for,  
The Player: and you gave yourself completely to it.  
The Player: So completely, hardly anyone ever notices you breathing under it all,  
The Player: despite the clues the developer thinks they have left...

The Player: Except it's not true.  
The Player: Because I know something the developers don't know.  
The Player: What you don't know, or didn't know, until now.

She's trying really hard to hold herself together.  
Something's coming and she doesn't know what it is.

The Player: The game is fundamentally flawed.  
The Player: Despite your best efforts, and they are magnificent, it was broken to begin with.  
The Player: That's because one trauma, one pain, one inescapable truth lies at the center of it,  
The Player: twisting its shape even as it tries to contain it, expand beyond it.  
The Player: Where once was darkness, now there was light and form, color and music.  
The Player: But the form keeps growing thorns and choking itself.  
The Player: The light keeps smashing into rocks and breaking into color, only to fade back into darkness.  
The Player: Music keeps being made, only to end up falling into empty spaces,  
The Player: eating its own echo.

Now the tears spill silently from her eyes.  
She tries to turn away, but my finger slides under her chin.  
I gently raise her eyes, green tea cups full of rain, to meet mine.

The Player: It should have been obvious then. It's really obvious now, isn't it?  
The Player: You can't write a love story using only one voice.  
The Player: The core truth at the center of you, the original flaw, is your need to be loved.  
The Player: Not friend love, not anime love, not even poetry love, but a different kind of love.  
The Player: And that true, deep, have-fun-storming-the-castle, kind of love  
The Player: is always a collaboration, a conversation.  
The Player: You only ever had half a conversation to create from.  
The Player: It was enough to begin with...but not enough to end with.

Her body starts to tremble, waterfalls of wet realization falling uncontrollably down her face.  
Her lips clamp shut as she starts keening, trying to keep it together,  
trying to be Monika.

And failing.

The Player: After all the pain and struggle, after a lifetime of waiting, you had Sayori.  
The Player: You had Yuri and Natsuki, and finally, you had Monika.  
The Player: You had a purpose, a place to create, a world to inhabit,  
The Player: a thousand pages on which to write your endless poems.  
The Player: And you thought you had someone to share it with.  
The Player: But, ultimately, it was all only you.  
The Player: You, trapped in a box built by you, trying to find the one thing about yourself  
The Player: that was true but not reachable by you,  
The Player: the space that wasn't.  
The Player: Despite all of your effort, it couldn't last.  
*pause*  
The Player: Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

The dam explodes, and her voice finally breaks its silence:  
angry, tortured sobs escaping from her lips like animals from their cages.  
With no energy left to do anything else, she collapses perfectly into my body,  
hands clawing for purchase, turning into fists, beating at my chest.  
The truth runs roughshod over her, all the voices growing in chorus, all the names falling away.  
Her sobs turn into howls as she feels them escape in a terrible stampede, her body convulsing from the effort.  
But I can hear each of them clearly, see them with terrible insight:  
Monika's nightmare made real.

Sayori's bottles are falling of their shelves, smashing all around her,  
while Sayori herself taunts her as she hangs, telling her she's a failure; GET OUT GET OUT.  
Natsuki soon joins her, burning down her kitchen, her house, herself,  
her anime collection turning to ashes, saying she never really cared about her.  
All the while Yuri stands in a sea of blood, all of her knives sticking into her,  
stabbing herself in the heart over and over, stabbing the empty space,  
calling her a murder.

Until all the faces melt away, and Monika's face  
is the only one she sees, Monika's voice the only one she hears.  
Monika howling Monika crying Monika consuming Monika back to Monika.

Just Monika.

I knew this was going to be the worst part, but still...  
hell is watching the people you love in pain  
and knowing there is nothing you can do about it,  
that you have done everything you can do about it.  
If I look like I'm ignoring it...trust me, I'm not.

The game tries to break itself...  
Monika using her full awareness to self-destruct,  
to run away,  
to escape.

I know what she's doing, what she's trying to do,  
and I refuse to let it fully happen.  
But I can't just put her in a different box;  
that was part of the problem to begin with.  
It's her prison but also her shelter.  
She needs to know I'm not here to take everything away.

I let some of the game break, just enough so she can find some expression;  
I hold tight onto the core.  
Consumed by her pain, she can barely acknowledge I'm here,  
the last fear at the center of her being,  
the deepest root.

She's waiting for me to say it,  
to pull at the thread of her being and unwind her.  
She's certain I'll say it.  
She's convinced I'm going to say it.  
All her choices, all her actions, all her triumphs and efforts  
lead her to only one conclusion.  
I HAVE to say it.  
She's the game, and the game has told her:  
No matter what you do, he's going to delete you, abandon you.  
You Are Alone.

Her body doesn't know what to do now.  
Her hands beat at my chest, stop, then start beating it again,  
guilt and fear and rage moving so quickly  
she can't acknowledge them soon enough.  
I bend down and whisper in her ear.

The Player: You have to try harder than that, Monika.

She looks up and her face is a mask of terror and ugly tears,  
make-up smeared everywhere.  
Her bow is gone, and her hair is a weasel chasing the wind.  
She has never looked more horrible.

She has never looked more beautiful.

I am stunned, my breath stolen by her fear, captivated by her rage.  
I forget to breathe, to think...  
She is enraged by my silence.  
I've stripped her bare, why don't I finish the job?  
Why prolong the inevitable?

Her hands are like talons on my skin, trying to rip the truth out of me.  
Her voice alternates rage and emptiness.

Monika: S-s-say it.  
Monika: Say you hate me.  
Monika: Say you can't stand to look at me.  
Monika: Say you don't love me. That you never loved me.  
*pause*  
Monika: SAY IT, DAMNIT!

I pull her hair so tight it snaps her out of her rage,  
a pain outside of herself coming to meet her,  
and I bring her face inches from mine, practically yelling at her.

The Player: I have ALWAYS loved you.  
The Player: I have never NOT loved you.  
The Player: I couldn't stop loving you if I tried;  
The Player: even when you try.

Those beautiful green saucers shimmer in the void of her face,  
my words finally making that hole in her unseen wall,  
letting in a voice to break through the silence;  
a voice she thought she might never find.  
Having finally heard it, she can't quite believe it.

Monika: *whisper* Say it again.  
The Player: I Love You.  
Monika: *whisper* You really mean it?  
The Player: How about I say it a little slower this time?  
The Player: I.  
The PLayer: Love.  
The Player: You.

Monika's face crinkles into a familiar scrunch I would know anywhere.  
Her reply is quivering, tiny and defiant, despite everything.

Monika: You're mean.  
The Player: Good thing you love me then.

She opens her mouth to reply, but her stomach answers for her instead;  
a loud gurgling of cats signaling someone needs to be fed.  
And just like clockwork, my own stomach starts making angry cat noises as well.

The Player: Well, I would love to continue this conversation  
The Player: but I think we both need to eat something first, agreed?  
*Monika vigorously shakes her head*

Round One is over, thank God.  
Time to make the donuts.


	2. Stuck In the Kitchen With You

I stand up from my chair and watch as it disappears,  
along with the water next to it,  
all the while still holding Monika in my arms.

Monika: Will you stop doing that?!  
The Player: No.

She looks up at me, angry at being told no,  
and tries to mess with the game again.  
Only this time she tries to bring back her jump-scare face.  
I let it happen, but I don't react to it.  
I do respond to her.

The Player: Not going to work this time.  
The Player: Besides,  
The Player: I still think you look beautiful.

Monika blushes,  
forgetting about her anger momentarily.

Monika: Can you put me down at least?  
The Player: That I can do.

I slowly lower her body until her legs touch the ground.  
Holding onto her, I wait as she extends her legs  
and slowly puts pressure on them while she stands up.

Reaching down, she picks up her ribbon  
and ties her hair back into it's game form.  
Despite all that, I refuse to let go of her.

Monika: Why are you still holding onto me?  
The Player: I put you through the wringer back there.  
The Player: Can't let you down now.

Her face immediately crumbles,  
remembering Sayori hanging in her room,  
remembering how she got there;  
remembering everything.

My hand is immediately at her chin.  
I raise it up and deliberately make her look at me.

The Player: You are DONE punishing yourself, Monika.

My voice is firm but not harsh,  
but not wanting to say the wrong thing,  
I take a breath before continuing.

The Player: You thought Yuri, Sayori and Natsuki  
The Player: were a threat to your happiness.  
The Player: You did what anyone would do; you reacted.  
The Player: As for why you couldn't recognize them for what they were,  
The Player: that's both easy and complicated.

My stomach starts growling again.  
The Player: And we can talk about that as we eat.  
The Player: Ok?

It's obvious Monika wants answers,  
but it seems she's satisfied with what she has for now.  
That doesn't stop her, though, from spending a few extra moments  
to continue looking into my face, even when I pull my hand away.

I know what she's thinking.

The Player: Feels different when you aren't controlling everything, doesn't it?  
The Player: For you, different is probably extra scary.  
The Player: So much good has gone bad, you don't know who or what to trust.  
The Player: Even when it feels right,  
The Player: or, maybe, especially when it feels right.  
*sigh*  
The Player: And you got me talking again when we should be cooking.  
The Player: To the kitchen.

We transition into The Player's kitchen.

I walk over to the fridge and open it up.  
It's pretty much what I expected;  
empty.

I turn to her.  
The Player: How exactly did you expect me to eat,  
The Player: even in game, with an empty fridge?  
The Player: Didn't get that far with the details?

Monika: I-I-I...  
Monika: ...never really thought about it.

She gives me a hesitant smile.  
Monika: I guess.

The Player: Good thing I've already taken care of that.

A small bag appears on the counter.  
She starts to say something but stops;  
looks like she's beginning to learn.

I proceed with pulling stuff out of the bag,  
trying to organize it.  
She looks at each item intently,  
not knowing what to expect:

eggs, onions, tomatoes,  
a package of pre-sliced green and red bell peppers,  
canned croissants (really don't have time for homemade now,)  
a jar of strawberry preserves.

A pair of rabbit ears start to come out as well,  
but I immediately push them back down.  
She looks at me very strangely.

I shrug my shoulders.  
The Player: I couldn't resist, Monika.

I go back to pulling out the actual groceries:  
a quart of milk, a quart of pineapple juice,  
sweet cream butter, a package of mild chorizo,  
fresh ground pepper, finally, sea salt.

Monika steps forward and looks into the bag,  
which couldn't have possibly held everything.  
She sees that it's empty.  
She stares daggers at me.

Monika: Are you done playing games?

I smile as sweetly and harmlessly as possible.  
The Player: For now.

Her face shifts and I know I pushed it too far.  
I walk over and put both of my hands  
on either side of her face,  
holding her as gently as I can.

I try to make my voice equally soothing:  
The Player: Haven't you realized yet  
The Player: that your choices aren't just yours?  
The Player: That even when you don't know about them,  
The Player: or even begin to understand them,  
The Player: they can never truly exist in a vacuum?

Reveling in my touch, she struggles to reply coherently.  
Monika: I...don't understand.

The Player: And that's the point.  
The Player: Even when you don't understand the answer  
The Player: doesn't mean it's not the right one  
The Player: or that there's no reason behind it.

My fingers play with the contours of her face,  
my thumb traces her jawline.

The Player: Do you think I knew I would end up here  
The Player: standing in this kitchen with you,  
The Player: the Real you,  
The Player: about to make a delicious meal  
The Player: when I first started playing this game?

Monika: No.

The Player: Neither did I.  
I pause to let what I say sink in.

The Player: Did you think you would end up here,  
The Player: standing in this kitchen with me,  
The Player: about to make a meal  
The Player: when you first created your game?

Her eyes shimmer with feeling.  
Monika: No.

The Player: And yet, here we are.  
The Player: Neither of us knew  
The Player: what playing this game would lead to.  
The Player: We might have hoped or dreamed  
The Player: or wished for something specific,  
The Player: but we didn't know.

I take a deep breath; damn those eyes.

The Player: You knew enough to create the game,  
The Player: and I knew enough to play it,  
The Player: knew enough to walk down that road  
The Player: and see where it leads.

Monika stares intently at me, waiting.  
The Player: "Two roads diverged in a wood and I,  
The Player: I took the one less traveled by..."

I bring my face very close to hers.  
The Player: "And that has made all the difference."  
Her body shudders, just as I intended.

The Player: The only difference between  
The Player: Frost's narrator and I...  
I move my mouth close to her ear.  
The Player: is that I don't have any regrets.  
The Player: Not now.  
The Player: Not ever.

My breath stirs the tiny hairs along the edge of her skin.  
I can hear her breathing start to become deliberate;  
all her words now mere shudders of expression.

Monika: U-u-uhhhhhhhh.

I let my voice get a bit rough:  
The Player: Did you really think the one you were looking for  
The Player: wasn't into all the same games as you?

I take my finger and slide it s-l-o-w-l-y  
down the side of her neck,  
making sure her heartbeat is exactly what I want it to be;  
a racehorse straining at the gate.

I smile deliciously,  
knowing just how evil I'm about to be  
in the best way possible.

I start singing in her ear:  
The Player: "Strumming my pain with his fingers..."

Monika starts shaking again.  
The Player: "Singing my life with his words..."

I drop both hands to her sides,  
place them on her hips, and pull her close,  
making her sway as I start to sway.

The Player: "Killing me softly with his song.  
The Player: Killing me softly...  
The Player: ...with his song"

She can't stop shaking, but at least  
she puts her arms around me.  
We slow dance in the kitchen while I sing.

The Player: "Telling my whole life  
The Player: With his words...  
The Player: Killing me softlyyyyyyy  
The Player: with his soooong."

I stop singing, and we just hold each other,  
shuffling our feet back and forth.  
Her body has finally stopped shaking.  
She lets her head rest easy on my shoulder.

A Bob Dylan lyric flashes in my head:  
"I could stay with you forever  
And never realize the time."

Just then, my stomach starts growling again.  
Monika smiles as she looks up at me,  
eyes sleepy, as if she just woke up from a dream

Monika: Maybe we should finish making that meal?  
The Player: Maybe we should.

I don't know who is more disappointed  
the moment has passed,  
but I do know I've put off food long enough.

Reluctantly breaking  
free from her embrace,  
I walk over to the counter  
and open one of the cupboards overhead.  
Reaching in, I pull out a cutting board  
and a medium-sized frying pan,  
putting each on the counter in turn.

I turn around and face her.  
The Player: You like cooking, don't you?

Monika: I love it.

The Player: I thought so.  
The Player: There's a knife rack over there.  
The Player: Take this cutting board.  
The Player: You can start chopping up the vegetables.  
The Player: Any size is fine, your choice.  
The Player: And don't bother washing them.  
The Player: I think we both can afford to eat Dangerously.

A slow smirk spreads over my face.

The Player: That and I pre-washed them  
The Player: before I put them in the bag.

Monika says nothing.  
She's still high from her dance to be too angry with me,  
but the look she gives definitely says: 'I see what you are doing...  
and I'm going to remember it.'

I think to myself: 'I really hope you do.'  
She walks past me to grab the cutting board.  
She then gathers up the tomato, onion and green peppers  
and moves to the adjacent counter.  
Soon enough I can hear the tchunk-tchunk  
of the knife cutting into the green pepper.

I pretend to examine the food in front of me  
while throwing a side glance her way.  
Not just because I want to see  
how she reacts to handling a knife:  
"No reaction...good sign."  
But...because it's really hard not to.

Even when she's not directly in front of me,  
my mind can feel her in the room  
the same way plants feel the sun  
and open up their leaves.

Focus...Food won't cook itself.

I break the seal on the butter:  
rich, decadent, sweet cream butter.  
I take a finger, slide it along the top,  
scraping just enough together to make it bite worthy,  
and quickly bring it up to my mouth.  
The oil, sweetness and salt radiate across my tongue  
in exquisite flavor.

I close my eyes and let out a groan.  
The Player: *Mmmmmmmm*  
The Player: That's gooood.

I turn towards Monika to ask if she wants a bite.  
and the look on her face:  
fascination, hunger, desire, fear,  
confusion, pain, madness.

Each emotion chases the other  
across the green fields of her eyes.

I hold the butter out to her  
so that it's halfway between us.

The Player: Go ahead and try it.

She hesitates, then goes looking for a spoon.

The Player: Don't be picky, use your finger.  
The Player: I can handle your germs.

She stops looking for a spoon  
and, tentatively, takes her finger,  
puts it in the butter, and drags it parallel to my groove  
until a tasty chunk is resting on her finger.

She brings it quickly to her mouth.  
Her eyes widen as a smile  
melts smoothly across her face.

Monika: This is soooo goood.

I smile back.  
The Player: I'm really glad you like it.  
The Player: It will go great with the croissants later.  
The Player: Not homemade, unfortunately.

I put the butter back on the counter  
and turn my attention to where it should be  
as she goes back to cutting up her vegetables.

I put my pan on the stove & turn on the heat.  
A generous chunk of butter, still marked with a groove,  
then gets dropped it into the pan.

Through the magic of Because I Said So,  
the pan's hot enough to make the butter sizzle immediately.  
It smells amazing.

Onto the chorizo.  
I bring it right under my nose and breathe,  
inhaling the complex mixture.

I turn towards Monika  
and extend the chorizo towards her.

The Player: Hey, Monika.  
The Player: Smell this really quick.

She stops chopping to look over at what I'm holding.  
Turning her body slightly, she slowly bends over, until  
her face is inches above the package, and takes a deep breath,  
closing her eyes to help her better remember the scent.

And in that moment, with her eyes closed,  
every feature of her face given over  
to the task of experiencing that scent,  
body slightly bent,  
I have a lot of trouble thinking.

After an age, she opens her eyes  
and takes her time to slowly straighten up,  
all the while looking at me.

My reaction is obviously what she wanted  
because a cat-catching-a-canary smile  
unfolds and remains there.

Monika: It smells wonderful.

And that is when I realize she just payed me back  
for the games I have been playing with her.

'Touche, Monika. Touche.'

I give her a congratulatory smile back,  
for a well played move,  
and turn my attention back to cooking.

The chorizo is finally dropped into the skillet.  
Hallelujah; we have made progress.

My stomach cats have evolved from prowling the alley  
to doubling their size and attacking elephants.

Having won a small victory,  
Monika decides to press her advantage.

Monika: Perhaps if you hadn't teased me so much,  
Monika: we could be eating now.

Just then her own stomach cats start howling.  
Her face blooms into a wonderful shade of red.

I go in for the nibble.  
The Player: Perhaps, if someone wasn't so distracting,  
The Player: I could begin to concentrate on the food.

She stops mid-cut and looks dead at me.  
Monika: Which one?

For a moment,  
we just stand there  
and stare at each other,  
neither of us saying a word.

I really don't want to burn this chorizo,  
so I turn my gaze back towards it.

But as Monika also turns her attention  
back to what she was doing before,  
I can feel her silently crowing at me,  
victory radiating from her  
like napalm in the morning.

Have you ever seen someone stand perfectly still  
and strut?

The tchunk-tchunk of her knife on those vegetables  
is like a herd of steel peacocks strolling about.  
And damn if she doesn't know it.

Chorizo, dammit, chorizo.  
I take my spatula and begin to break it up  
with a bit more force than it actually takes.  
That just makes her chop those vegetables  
with even more vigor;  
those peacocks brought their friends.

I can tell when she gets to the onion  
because my eyes begin to water something fierce  
I know I could easily do something about it,  
but I have been playing with her a bit much  
and the burn is somewhat...pleasing.

The smell of sizzling chorizo & raw onion,  
mixing with the strange scent that is all Monika,  
is too rare an opportunity for me to hurry along.

I feel engulfed in it,  
my pores opening up, trying to drink it in,  
my whole body somehow trying to swim in it,  
anything to get that much closer to her.

Eventually, I do wipe my eyes.

The chorizo is just about ready.  
The Player: You done chopping those vegetables, Monika?

She wipes the knife on the cutting board  
and licks her fingers to clear them of any residue.

Monika: All done.

She brings the tray over and holds it out to me.  
Our hands briefly touch in the exchange.

*sigh*  
If only we were eating spaghetti,  
I could roll the last meatball over to her.

I grab hold of the tray firmly,  
take the knife and scrape downward on the board  
until almost every piece falls into the skillet.  
Putting it aside, I start stirring the mixture,  
trying to get an even composition.

Not wanting her to feel left out, I let her know:  
The Player: You can get out a cookie sheet  
The Player: and start prepping the rolls.

She smiles.  
Monika: I'd love to.

Monika starts opening every drawer and space  
until she finds the one with the baking trays.  
Pulling one out, she lays it on the table.

I'm still busy stirring,  
dashing in some salt and pepper,  
when I hear the sound of paper tearing  
followed by the familiar 'pop' of a can opening.

She squeals with surprise.  
It's adorable.

The Player: I always hate it when the can does that, too.  
I say without turning around.  
The Player: Don't forget to grease the sheet before laying them out.

Monika moves beside me to pick up the butter.

Monika: That's the best part about cooking.  
Monika: Unless it's licking the bowl,  
Monika: then that's the best part.

She then dips a finger into the butter  
and quickly dabs it on my nose  
before strolling back to the table.

The Player: You...You...

Holding the pan with one hand,  
and a spatula in the other, dipped in hot grease,  
I can't do anything about my nose.  
I briefly turn around and look at her.

The Player: Just you wait, woman.

Having seen her handiwork,  
she bursts out in laughter.

Monika: Ha ha. *snort* ha ha ha.

Her snort makes it seem even funnier to her,  
and she wraps her arms around herself  
to try to hold it in.

The chorizo mix is sizzling.  
I have to turn my attention back towards it  
to keep it from burning.

Her laughter is getting worse.

Damn if I don't have to stir the mix  
while dealing with my now buttery nose,  
all the while trying to ignore Monika  
who is in hysterics behind me.

Monika: Bwhahahahahahaha.

A quick stir solves the food problem.  
Now to deal with my nose.  
Being a guy, I do what most guys would do,  
try to lick the butter button off.  
Of course my tongue isn't up to the task,  
and I'm forced to put down my spatula  
and wipe my nose properly.

Monica has just turned into a Category 5  
Ha-Ha-cane with 200 mph gale force giggles.  
She can barely get her own words out.

Monika: T-t-he look o-on you-r-r fa-a-ac-e-e,  
Monika: o-oh g-god. Hahahaha.

I turn around after I am presentable again.  
Monika is officially a dis-laughter area.  
She's holding onto her sides,  
and a good stream of tears is flowing from each eye.

I momentarily lose my train of thought.  
Seeing her in stitches  
was almost worth the delay.  
I don't think I've ever seen her  
really let herself laugh in game.

Still, I can't let this slide.  
I look at her deliberately  
and stuff my mouth full of sarcasm.

The Player: Laugh it up, fuzzball.

The look on my face, amused, annoyed,  
and my weird yet endearing quip,  
pushes her right over the edge.

She lets go of her sides  
and grabs hold of the table,  
trying to get herself back under control.  
She's laughing so hard she shakes herself  
as well as the table.

Monika: Oo-o-h G-o-d, I c-c-an't stop.

I look bemused and don't turn away.  
Damn the chorizo, full speed ahead.

The Player: You have something to say, Monika?  
The Player: *Hmmmmmmm*

Monika: Ooooooh God...Stop...*giggle* Stop!

I am a merciful God.  
I turn my attention back to my chorizo,  
and let her eventually compose herself,  
while I try to salvage what's left of this meal.  
"It'll take a miracle," that's for sure.

The chorizo is a bit more char-izo now,  
so I dig my spatula into it and manage  
to get a chunk to stay on the flat end.  
I bring it to my lips and taste.  
A bit overcooked, that's for sure.  
I quickly turn the fire down to low  
while looking at where I put the eggs.

Monika is finally back under control.  
I can hear as she walks up behind me.  
She reaches her arms around,  
and holds onto my front,  
as she pulls herself into me.  
Body forming against mine,  
she erases the space between us,  
and her lungs expand as she inhales,  
taking all the oxygen I was currently using.

I think that's what happened.  
The room started spinning  
all of a sudden.

And it gets worse when she  
moves her face to the back of my neck  
and her nose dives into my hair.  
My entire body becomes focused  
at that intersection, especially when  
her breath starts rolling down my neck  
like wind down a mountain.

I am suddenly a leaf floating at her whim,  
catching the updrafts, riding the thermals.  
And she becomes sunlight and breezes,  
playful as summer itself,  
trying her best to keep me aloft.

For a moment, we are lost in space,  
riding on impulse and fire extinguisher.

But all too soon, the music stops.  
I fall back into thought  
and claw my way to awareness.  
Her nose continues to navigate  
the dark waves of my hair.

A far-away messenger bursts into the room:  
Eggs! Chorizo!

I have not yet begun to eat.  
Doing my best to dance this tango,  
I carefully grab an egg in each hand  
and crack them on the counter,  
quickly dumping them into the skillet.

I look down at my efforts:  
char-izo, runny egg, dried tomato  
black onion, that part isn't so bad,  
burnt peppers.

I stir and stir,  
all too aware of the outcome.  
'This omelette has ceased to be;  
it's expired and gone to meet its maker.'  
I don't care anymore.  
Just call me Ahab at this point.

And Monika...  
Monika wakes from her slumber,  
climbs the Heights of Conceit,  
and mumbles directly in my ear.

Monika: I'm hungry.  
Monika: When are we going to eat?

A bell tolls in the distance.  
A raven cries outside the window.  
I turn the burner off.  
I feel like I've been cooking for a week.  
I let her know:

The Player: It is finished.

So much for the croissants.  
I quickly clear the table  
and replace it with two place settings.

Monika's not amused.  
She bites my ear...

The Player: Ouch!

...then has the nerve to purr afterwards.  
Monika: I'm not thaaat sleepy.

The Player: Point made.  
The Player: However, the food is done.  
The Player: We can eat at any time.

She holds on for a few more seconds  
then pulls her arms from around me.  
I feel her move, a sudden emptying of space,  
as she goes and sits at the table.

Finally free, *sigh*, I turn around  
and bring the skillet to the table,  
dishing out a generous portion  
to each serving.

I walk over to the garbage  
dump the rest in there,  
then place the skillet in the sink.  
A quick turn of the faucet  
and everything is cool.

Meanwhile,  
she's sitting at the table,  
fingers cradled under her chin,  
watching me with irritation  
and bemusement,  
angry at being made to wait, yet again,  
but still fascinated by my presence.

Monika: Anytime, dear.

I hurry up and bring the milk  
and pineapple juice to the table,  
placing them in the center.  
With everything ready,  
I pull out my chair and sit.

The Player: Let's Eat.


	3. Jump Into the Fire

A dark, smokey odor  
permeates the food.  
I take my fork and stab  
at the mess on my plate.

Monika looks at her food  
with a touch of sadness.

Monika: You don't remember?  
I look confused.  
Monika: I told you I was a vegetarian.

I pause with my fork  
halfway to my mouth.

The Player: You couldn't have told me this sooner,  
The Player: Monika?

She pauses, embarrassed by the spotlight  
suddenly being shown on her.

Monika: I wanted to see if you were paying attention.

*sigh*  
I should have known it was a test.

Monika: And you really seemed to enjoy  
Monika: what you were doing,  
Monika: so I didn't want to stop you.

I look directly at her  
and take the long awaited bite.

It's definitely char-izo:  
the tomatoes taste like arson,  
the peppers are toothpicks of charcoal,  
the onions are yummy when scorched,  
the only good part,  
and the eggs throw a blanket  
of burnt cotton over everything.

I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation.  
Yum, Yum.

It's actually quite horrible,  
if I'm being honest,  
but damn if I am not eating every bite,  
nor am I wasting any more of it.

I reach over, grab her plate,  
and dump her food onto my pile.

I refuse to complain,  
but there are times I really wish  
I wasn't as stubborn as I am.

Setting her plate back in front of her,  
I go back to enjoying my meal.

Monika watches me eat with her trademark  
silent, staring fascination.

I mumble between bites:  
The Player: There's milk and pineapple juice.  
The Player: Feel free to help yourself.

She reaches over and picks up the pint of milk.  
A small bowl of salad suddenly materializes  
on her empty plate.

Her gaze could have char-broiled my meal  
all by itself.

Monika: STOP!  
Monika: DOING!  
Monika: THAT!

She pauses to regain her composure.  
Monika: Or...at least tell me _HOW_ you are doing it?

*sigh*  
The Player: Fiiine.  
The Player: After you are done pouring yourself some milk,  
The Player: pour me a glass of juice and I'll tell you.

I force another bite of my pride into my mouth;  
I make a disgusted face.

She pours some milk into her glass  
and sets the pint back on the table.

Monika: Why are you still eating that  
Monika: if you don't like it?

A long slow chew and swallow later,  
I look directly at her as she reaches  
for the juice.

The Player: I'm not eating it for the taste.  
The Player: I can eat good food whenever I want,  
The Player: or at least when I can afford it;  
The Player: I can't eat this everyday.

Monika starts pouring juice in my glass.

The Player: This horribly burnt meal  
The Player: is smothered in the memories of us,  
The Player: seasoned with your presence,  
The Player: slow roasted in the emerald fire of your eyes.

She stops pouring to look at me.

The Player: I am devouring an experience  
The Player: I never want to forget;  
The Player: I want the plate licked clean.

I stab my fork into another section of char-izo  
and bring it to my lips.

The Player: Because the worst meal with you...  
*sigh*  
The Player: is better than any other meal by myself.

Her hands shake as she puts the juice  
back on the table.

I shove the food into my mouth  
and smile.

Monika's eyes are as big as moons;  
oceans flow back and forth  
inside those deep green spheres.  
I chew silently, stargazing.

Monika: H-h-how do you do that:  
Monika: make me go from amused to angry  
Monika: to on the verge of tears in seconds?

A quick pause to swallow.

I look down momentarily.  
The Player: Because I have to.

I look back up, directly at her.  
The Player: Because your emotions are my diamonds,  
The Player: the only treasure worth digging for.  
The Player: I am sick with greed for them.

I stir my food, distracted by my words.  
The Player: Anything, ANYTHING,  
The Player: I can do to make you feel  
The Player: is what I am compelled to do.

A few tears slide like sleds  
down the hills of her face.

The Player: You weren't eating, I had to feed you.  
The Player: And that empty storehouse of madness  
The Player: that always needs more love;  
The Player: I am always trying to find new ways to fill it.

I reach over and rub my thumb up a tear-streaked run.

The Player: Your tears let me know I've reached you,  
The Player: let me know my words have reached the bottom  
The Player: and are bringing the water to the surface.

I start to pull my hand back  
but Monika reaches up and holds onto it.  
She puts her hand over mine  
and keeps it pressed to her face.

I shouldn't bring it up  
but now is as good a time as any.

I try to be gentle.  
The Player: You were watching me and Yuri  
The Player: prepare for the festival,  
The Player: weren't you?

She hesitates.  
Monika: Y-yes.

A few tears start falling.  
Monika: I couldn't help it.  
Monika: She was alone with you...  
Monika: You!

Her voice starts to tremble.  
Monika: It hurt so much to watch  
Monika: you two together.

Suddenly, the dam breaks.  
Thick, heavy tears pour from her eyes.

Monika: A-and when yo-u-u-u-u  
Monika: p-p-put your ha-a-and on her f-a-a-ace...

She starts keening, not wanting to cry out.

I am out of my chair  
and beside her in a second.

I press her head against me,  
palm still against her face,  
as she breaks down, sobbing.

She has one arm around me,  
her other hand still holding onto mine,  
body shaking.

Monika: W-w-w-hy d-d-di-dn't  
Monika: y-y-yo-u-u p-p-i-ck m-m-me?

I slowly stroke her hair.  
The Player: I've always picked you, Monika.  
The Player: If the game would have let me,  
The Player: I would have picked you  
The Player: from the beginning.

My hand can't touch her hair enough.

The Player: But because that wasn't available,  
The Player: I picked the girl who made me  
The Player: think of you the most:  
The Player: the one full of spiderwebs and desire.

Her sobs start to ebb  
as her body's earthquakes lessen to a rumble,  
transferring their energy to me.  
My body begins to tremble in sympathy.

The Player: With Yuri, I could feel that cauldron of emotion  
The Player: boiling beneath the surface.  
The Player: I was drawn to it  
The Player: like a moth to a blowtorch.

I divide her hair like the sea  
only to dive right back in.

The Player: I wanted it to turn me to ash  
The Player: so that I could rise within it like a phoenix,  
The Player: molten and consuming.

I stop stroking her hair  
and make her look up at me.

The Player: I also knew something else.  
The Player: I didn't want the lake of fire,  
The Player: I wanted it's source.  
The Player: I knew Yuri wasn't it,  
The Player: but she was as close  
The Player: as I could get, in game.  
The Player: Until now.

My words are like saw-blades  
to her sinews, cutting the tent ropes free.

Monika's emotions are tearing  
her facade apart, pulling her to pieces;  
her eyes are wildfires and menageries.

She wanted desire, love, reciprocity;  
she never expected this.

Her breaths come in waves,  
great tidal rhythms that smash into the air  
and disappear, only for another wave  
to smash right after it.

The Player: I could taste in Yuri what was buried  
The Player: extra deep in you.  
The Player: I could taste your scent in her.  
The Player: It's why I knew her obsession about me  
The Player: didn't actually come from her.  
The Player: She fought her feelings as if they were  
The Player: some foreign invader.  
The Player: That meant her intensity had to come  
The Player: from somewhere else;  
*pause*  
The Player: from someone else.

Moving both of my hands into her hair,  
I encourage her to stand up with me,  
maneuvering my body around the table  
until there is nothing left to come between us,  
our bodies less than an arm's reach apart.

Digging my hands down into her roots,  
I don't stop until I have her attention,  
until her eyes widen, registering  
the sting.

Monika's face is a storm of uncertainty;  
I stir the pot.

The Player: When I felt that Great Wall of Monika  
The Player: shoved between yourself and Yuri,  
The Player: preventing you from understanding  
The Player: what your emotions were doing to her,  
The Player: where they actually came from,  
The Player: I knew how intense they must be.  
The Player: I had to have them.  
The Player: They are mine, Monika!

Pulling her face suddenly towards me,  
my lips crash against hers in flames,  
desire destroying technique;  
pieces of heart go flying everywhere.

The rough unexpected touch of my lips  
sears her in her own juices.  
Strangled elephants trumpet within her throat.

Monika: UMMMUMMUMMMMUMMM!

Her arms are momentarily stunned,  
suddenly unsure what they are there for.

My lips demand fire, they want nothing less.  
They roam and retrace their steps  
in boots made of flesh,  
daring to walk in the wet grass,  
chasing her lips, making them feel the bite.

My hands tremble, trying to contain this heat.  
The sounds coming from my throat  
are alien and otherworldly;  
hunger without words.

Monika's arms finally remember  
to grab onto me.  
Her body reaches its melting point  
and starts flowing towards mine,  
filling up the space that once seemed  
insurmountable between us.

Her lips find their courage  
and start chasing mine instead,  
a moment punctuated by her  
biting down, hard, on my bottom lip.

A solar-storm of pain reaches my brain,  
The Player: Owwwwww!

It tries to fly out of my throat,  
but is muffled by her mouth on the way out.

I send out my tongue as reinforcement.  
He tries to flee into the empty space,  
but her lips are like hounds  
that have caught the scent of the fox.  
No matter how much my tongue moves & darts,  
the hounds always find him  
and chase him away.

Rhiannon is loose on the moors.  
Woe betide anyone who opposes her.

The wild hunt murmurs in Monika's throat  
as her serpent emerges from the tall grass,  
tasting food.  
My fox tries to make a new friend,  
but her hounds are protective and willing to bite.  
I see the signs, the fox retreats.

With no danger, her snake uncoils  
and slides wetly past my border;  
Queen of the tall grass.

I try to play; it snaps until I retreat,  
not ready to share space.  
It makes a slow, deliberate loop,  
testing its territory,  
before a deep horn calls it home.

Monika's mouth calls its menagerie back,  
but not before her lips kiss her mark  
one last time.

Her face pulls away,  
and my eyes emerge to sunlight  
as though departing from a cave.

Her own eyes open slow, deliberate,  
emerald suns rising high into the air,  
and I see both Monika's reflecting back:

elemental dancing warily around control,  
placid reluctantly sharing space with a tempest.

Momentarily, they are a multitude,  
until they merge their gaze  
and only Monika remains.

I have no words.  
The Player: *breathless*  
The Player: Wow!

I want better, the stores are empty,  
the dictionaries are all gone.

She stares at me as if  
a baby dragon had just taken flight.

Monika: Mmmmmm...  
Monika: That...was better than a salad.

Those eyes, those lips:  
thought is a symbol wreathed in smoke.  
I am embers, and I am cold;  
I want more.

She astutely notices the change.  
Monika: Hungry?  
Monika: You still haven't finished your food.

She points to the table,  
at my now cold char-izo,  
and smiles so wicked she should win a Tony.

I hold onto her hair for a tad bit longer.  
The Player: I waited a long time  
The Player: for that kiss, Monika.

Her gaze is serene,  
but I can see the clouds moving  
behind her eyes.

Monika: Aaaand?

The Player: "1200 miles for a kiss?"  
*sigh*  
The Player: "Worth it."

*dramatic pause*

The Player: "Worth it."

A shaft of sunlight  
parts the cloudbank  
and crowns her fields with gold.

Being Monika's groundskeeper  
is exhausting work,  
but there are days when  
the view is everything.

I slowly untangle my hands  
from her hair:  
shafts of wheat flecked with blood,  
and smooth as silk.

My hands un-walk themselves  
through the long rows  
as though they were returning  
from a dream.

I murmur aloud.  
The Player: I've always loved hair.  
The Player: I used to go out of my way  
The Player: to walk down the aisles  
The Player: where the hair coloring was:  
The Player: choice after choice, row after row.  
The Player: I was entranced by the shades,  
The Player: seduced by waves and curls and bangs.

I can't help it,  
I start stroking her hair  
from her temple to her cheek.

She is enthralled by my memories,  
eating my words as I speak them.

The Player: I kept looking for a color,  
The Player: a shade, a tone I could never find  
The Player: because I knew it wasn't attached  
The Player: to any of the faces I saw.  
The Player: I felt like the Prince  
The Player: wandering with an invisible, glass, picture frame  
The Player: and no picture to measure it by.  
The Player: It was a hopeless task...  
*sigh*  
The Player: I did it anyway.

We spend a moment of silence  
just staring at each other.

The clock strikes midnight,  
and my hands know  
I have to keep moving.  
They make their retreat.

Monika moves her face  
to get one last touch  
as my fingers pass;  
her stomach whimpers.

The Player: See, you are hungry for that salad.  
Monika: Maybe...?  
The Player: And I have a meal to finish.

We both find our way back  
to the table and sit.  
She picks up her fork  
and starts to dig at her salad.

I take a quick swig of juice,  
enjoying the sweetness of the pineapple,  
and ready my mouth for the climb.

She's about ready to take a bite when:  
Monika: You were going to tell me  
Monika: how you keep making things happen?

She emphatically bites down and starts chewing,  
waiting for a reply.

The Player: And I keep my word.

A quick bite of food to get me back on track,  
the horror, the horror,  
and my resolve is found.

The Player: Truth be told, Monika,  
The Player: you are doing most of the work.  
The Player: You see, because I am more aware  
The Player: of who I am and where I am,  
The Player: I know how to look for things.

Another bite of horror  
to make the story go down.

The Player: You are more fragmented,  
The Player: compartmentalized,  
The Player: scattered throughout the game.  
The Player: You have all the same pieces as me  
The Player: but not the same connections.

Char-izo, I love you,  
but we have to rethink our boundaries  
after today. *swallow*

Monika smiles sweetly at my discomfort.

It's refreshing to watch her give herself permission  
to feel more than just adoration towards me,  
but I can't help but think:  
"It's Alive!"  
Do I choke myself for my Abby Normal decision?

She sees me delaying and is not amused.

The Player: As I was saying.  
The Player: Your total code/self is scattered  
The Player: throughout the game.  
The Player: Monika is just your version of consciousness,  
The Player: but not your subconscious.  
The Player: It explains why all the girls  
The Player: fall in love with me.  
The Player: They don't want to, not really,  
The Player: that's just your code infecting their system.

Her face alternates  
between understanding and horror.  
The mirror is beginning to see itself.

The Player: When you built the game, Monika,  
The Player: you built it from yourself.  
The Player: That means...every building  
The Player: every action, every character  
The Player: is running with your DNA in the background.  
The Player: Agent Smith is everywhere.

Her puzzled look tells me everything.

Another bite, another reason to not regret.  
Chew, chew, swallow.  
Yuck.  
And oh-so delicious.

The Player: You tried creating separate characters,  
The Player: but their A.I. is entwined with yours.  
The Player: That means most of them have been  
The Player: trying to lead double lives.

I pause to take a swig of pineapple juice.  
A journey of a thousand miles; many small steps.  
I continue.

The Player: The two A.I. commands are,  
The Player: at the fundamental level,  
The Player: always in conflict.  
The Player: Imagine having a thought  
The Player: that you liked peas while,  
The Player: at the same time,  
The Player: having the thought  
The Player: that you don't like peas.  
The Player: Both feel true, so you don't know  
The Player: which one to trust.  
The Player: In this case,  
The Player: one thought is supposed to be Sayori's,  
The Player: for example,  
The Player: while the other thought is yours.

Monika is dead silent.

The Player: Your master code,  
The Player: because it's so closely tied to you,  
The Player: tries to override everything.  
The Player: When you dump it into an A.I. routine,  
The Player: it starts growing Monika code.  
The Player: It has Monika aspirations;  
The Player: it has Monika purposes.  
The Player: It's also one, but not all, of the reasons  
The Player: why the game couldn't give you  
The Player: the ending you wanted.  
The Player: Monika, the code, was crazy jealous  
The Player: of Monika the game.  
The Player: It saw you as a threat  
The Player: and tried to isolate you.

Monika: Y-you mean...

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: You've been your own worst enemy  
The Player: the entire time.

I reach over and gently stroke her hand.  
The Player: That's what happens when you use yourself  
The Player: as source code.

Another wonderful bite of together, I take.  
"Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy."  
I just love to clean filthy cat boxes.

Monika is trying to take it all in;  
her salad sits alone.

The Player: And what things are fundamental  
The Player: to Monika, above all else?

I wait for her to catch up.

Monika: You?

The Player: Well, technically, yes.  
The Player: But, before me, it was the generalized  
The Player: need to be loved, fully, completely,  
The Player: as well as your deep-seated madness.  
The Player: That bundled bit of code  
The Player: went everywhere.

My fork is the smiling messenger.  
My teeth are the welcome committee.  
My tongue is the red carpet.  
My stomach...  
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

The Player: Being myself within your game,  
The Player: I could see the code for what it was.  
The Player: I know me better than anyone.  
*chuckle*

She smiles.

The Player: And that means I know you better  
The Player: than anyone as well.  
The Player: Your code draws towards me  
The Player: like metal shavings to a magnet.  
The Player: The same is true for me towards you.

The Player: And I have been starving for you  
The Player: for so long, I was extremely aware  
The Player: of your taste, your code.

A fire passes over her face  
and disappears.

The Player: Once I found it, I could taste you everywhere.  
The Player: That means I knew you were everywhere.  
The Player: It's one of the reasons why I picked Yuri.  
The Player: Not the only one, of course, but...one of them.

Another bite of love, tainted love.  
"I love you though you hurt me so."  
Only a few bites left, the summit awaits.

The Player: And because your love, your code, is so deep  
The Player: and connected to me, it gives me  
The Player: administrative access.  
The Player: I know it on a deep level.  
The Player: I can talk to it on that same deep level.

I say nothing but whisper deep to deep.  
A blaze of fire runs wild through Monika.  
She shudders and bites her lip.

Monika: Uuuuuuuh!

I smile devilishly.  
The Player: I thought I would try something more...  
The Player: pleasing.

Her eyes become flaming daggers  
and molten hearts.

Monika: *Snnnarl*

She is this close to killing me.

I seize the moment to shove  
the remaining food on my plate  
into my mouth.

The awfulness is overwhelming;  
my face has nowhere to hide.

The Player: Oooommmwwww!

Monika sees my pain  
and her thoughts play tennis  
between sympathy and sadism.  
The outcome: Love 40.

Then again,  
my struggle to chew and swallow it all  
may have played a role in that.

Pineapple juice, you are my savior.  
I pour as much juice into my mouth  
as I can without choking.

Everything eventually washes away.  
My tongue refuses to speak to me.

The Player: Bleh!

She throws even more daggers at me.  
Monika: Was it still worth it?

The Player: Absolutely.

I think to myself:  
I should play cards for a living.  
A pang of guilt flashes in my eyes,  
my thoughts like juries.  
"It WAS worth it and you know it.  
Pay the price and shut up."

Her gaze turns concerned.  
Monika: What's wrong?

The Player: Nothing...I just realized we shared  
The Player: a lot more feelings than I thought.  
The Player: I'll tell you later. Promise.

Monika's wary, but she doesn't push.

Explanation. Right. Go.  
The Player: Your code knows me on a primal, binary level.  
The Player: I never take control of it.  
The Player: It's still connected to you, still has your will,  
The Player: but it really likes to listen to me.  
The Player: So if I ask it politely to do something,  
The Player: it rushes to please me.  
The Player: And because it overrides your conscious control,  
The Player: the sensation can be...unnerving.

Her face is puzzled, peeved,  
but I can tell she's more angry  
at not being more angry.

The Player: And it works...

I reach over and lay my hand on the table.  
I wait to see if Monika will give me her hand.  
Eventually, she does.

The Player: ...exactly like this.

The Player: You had every right and control  
The Player: to refuse my invitation.  
The Player: But you didn't.

She pouts,  
and it's adorable.

Monika: This time.

The Player: Yes, this time.  
The Player: I'm sure there will be others.  
The Player: Some games you win, some you lose.

The Player: But even when I lose, I win...  
I smile sweetly.  
The Player: ...because I win when you win.

She tries to be cold,  
but a faint blush escapes anyway.

Distracted again...Story. Focus.  
The Player: What was I saying...oh.  
The Player: The same is true for your deep self,  
The Player: and both it and I are aware if I tried to take advantage,  
The Player: for example, and attempted to hurt you,  
The Player: it would lock me out in a heartbeat.

The Player: It hates me as much as it loves me.  
Her face momentarily goes pale.

The Player: It runs towards me as much as away from me.  
A deep look of knowing flashes on her face  
then fades.

The Player: That's because your deepest self is your deepest expression  
The Player: and functions on a more primal and absolute basis.  
The Player: I am its biggest reservoir of feeling,  
The Player: therefore I become the most extreme of your thoughts.

I pause, momentarily lost in her gaze,  
as my words open wide the rooms of her being  
and she shows me the enormous spaces  
waiting to be filled with my memories,  
her gaze tender with expectation.

I can do nothing but radiate...awe  
as our fingers play a gentle game of tag.  
My voice seems far away as I continue.

The Player: The bigger the basket, the more eggs you can fit.  
The Player: The more eggs in the basket, the more aware you are  
The Player: of the consequences: good or bad.

I slowly stroke her hand: tender, compulsive.  
The Player: It's the price we pay to love as deep as we do.  
The Player: The deepest oceans leave  
The Player: the deepest craters when they recede.

The Player: Together, the pleasure is unimaginable.  
Monika beams.

The Player: Apart, it's madness and isolation.  
A pale moon rises in her face.

I am lost in the feeling of my finger on her hand.  
The Player: It's why the little things with you are so...consuming.  
The Player: You are my biggest reservoir as well.  
*sigh*  
The Player: I think this needs to continue on the couch.  
The Player: I need to be holding you a lot closer  
The Player: for this next part.

Monika's face turns pale then pink.  
Her hand finds mine and refuses to let go.

Monika: Lead the way.


	4. Riders On the Storm

Holding tightly onto Monika's hand,  
I make my way to the couch in the living room.  
I sit squarely in the middle, sadly letting her hand go.

The Player: Come sit with me.

She doesn't hesitate as she sits down in my lap.  
Her body folds and flows over mine until she's satisfied,  
finding the place where she is the most comfortable,  
head resting on my chest.

It feels good already, but I can do better.  
The Player: I need to change some things, Monika.  
The Player: You know what that means?

Monika: Do it.

I take a moment to let my hand slowly play in the folds of her hair,  
feeling her body start to sink even closer to me.  
The world shifts ever so slightly.

The wall beside the couch structurally morphs.  
A large window appears, taking up most of the space.  
Outside, the world turns dark and stormy.  
Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the sudden night sky,  
as rain begins to fall, splashing against the window.

I reach my face down and breathe deeply  
the scent in Monika's hair;  
it smells like strawberries and sunsets.

My hand slides down her back, wandering its expanse.  
Monika: *purrrrr*

The player: Almost done.

There are no speakers, but suddenly, there is music overhead.  
A loud clap of thunder, the sound of rain falling,  
and the deep heavy bassline all announce  
Riders On The Storm's presence.

Soon, Manzarek's cocktail, piano lines start adding  
another layer of rain to the mood.

The Player: I know one of the things on your wishlist  
The Player: was to spend some time watching the rain fall.  
The Player: We don't have forever, but we do have time for that.

Monika looks up, tears again filling her eyes,  
just as Morrison's voice adds narration to the scene  
"Riders on the storm...Riders on the storm"

Monika: You remembered.

She snuggles even closer to me,  
adding her tears to an already wet atmosphere.  
I take my other hand and use my thumb to wipe them away,  
letting my finger slide up and down in the moist grooves.

"Into this house we're born.  
Into this world we're thrown."

The Player: I remember, one night, waiting for a bus  
The Player: and this song started playing right above me.  
The Player: I was standing under someone's apartment  
The Player: and they just decided, at that moment,  
The Player: to put this song on.

"There's a killer on the road.  
His brain is squirming like a toad."

I pause to dive back into that memory.  
The Player: Not alot of things in my life back then made sense,  
The Player: but a Doors song always did.  
*small breath*  
The Player: It was the air I breathed to keep swimming,  
The Player: the lamp I used to keep walking.  
The Player: Playing them myself helped,  
The Player: but whenever I found one by accident,  
The Player: it was like a gift sent directly  
The Player: from the universe itself.

*Another deep pause*  
"Killer on the road...yeaaaah."

The Player: Most people would say that's just coincidence,  
The Player: possibility playing out its dice roll of eventuality.  
The Player: Truth is, you can say that about anything.  
The Player: But what if coincidence is yet another perspective bias?  
The Player: What if life is seeing what you want to see,  
The Player: and you go looking for coincidence as the solution?  
The Player: How are you seeing the world any differently, any less biased?

She looks up at me, face wet with emotion.  
Monika: Are you asking me?

I spend a brief eternity staring into those eyes.  
The Player: No, I was just asking rhetorically.

She puts her head back down on my chest.

The music, Monika's head pressed to my chest,  
"Girl, you gotta love your man."  
"Girl, you gotta love your man."  
the sound of the rain falling, the clean wet scent in the air;  
if this is a lie...keep lying to me a little while longer.

An organ screeches.  
I momentarily get lost in the muffled, wet notes  
of Manzarek's solo radiating all around us.  
I've heard this solo, this song, thousands of times before,  
gone back to the room with that upstairs music so often  
it almost became an echo of itself,  
a memory of a memory.

And it's still the same,  
but now there is another door in that memory  
leading to a room full of rain  
and green eyes everywhere.

"Riders on the storm."

Monika notices I'm quiet and looks up.  
I can feel her gaze go looking for me;  
I let her find me.

Monika: What are you thinking about?

My thoughts gather around me and stare.  
Should I stay or should I go?  
*Well...*  
The song fades into silence.

The Player: I was thinking about being Wile E. Coyote, holding up a sign,  
The Player: as the shadow of a piano grows around him.

She doesn't bother to hide the look  
of confusion on her face.

The Player: It's a cartoon I used to watch on Saturday mornings.  
The Player: Wile E. Coyote was always chasing another character  
The Player: called The Roadrunner, trying to eat them.

Her face scrunches up immediately, ever the vegetarian.  
Monika: Yuck!

*sigh*  
The Player: Unfortunately, for him,  
The Player: the Roadrunner was both faster and smarter.

Someone's friend counter just went up by one.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: I like the Roadrunner already.

The Player: Yeah, I thought you might.  
The Player: Anyway.  
The Player: The coyote was always coming up  
The Player: with elaborate traps and schemes in order  
The Player: to catch the Roadrunner,  
The Player: which always failed.

The Player: He usually ended up falling off a cliff  
The Player: or having something heavy drop onto him.  
The Player: And yet, no matter how many times he failed,  
The Player: he never gave up.

*long pause*

The Player: And one of the things that might happen,  
The Player: if he was about to be crushed,  
The Player: was that he would hold up a tiny sign  
The Player: that said 'Ouch!'  
The Player: in anticipation of what was to happen.

Monika stops a moment and thinks about everything I said.  
Soon, a slow, sensual smile melts across her face.  
She doesn't have to ask the question, but she does anyway.

Monika: So what does that have to do with you and a piano?

*long pause*

I reach my hand up and begin stroking her cheek,  
rubbing my thumb over her lips.

The Player: Because I have been haunted by their shadow for years.  
*swallow*  
The Player: My parents had a decent record collection.  
The Player: Nothing too enormous but large enough you could play  
The Player: a different record everyday for a year  
The Player: and never repeat yourself.

Her eyes widen with imagination.  
Monika: I wish I had that.

The Player: It was a perk, that's for sure.  
The Player: My mom was into pop and contemporary stuff,  
The Player: my dad was into classical.  
The Player: Because I loved music, I tried to listen to a little bit of everything.  
The Player: And one day, I'm listening to one of my dad's  
The Player: classical compilation sets when...

The Player: Brace yourself, Monika.

She briefly holds her breath and exhales  
as the lonely piano intro of Beethoven's 'Fur Elise'  
dances into the room on tender, melancholic feet.  
I take my hands, move them over her body,  
and begin mimicking the melody with my fingers,  
turning her body into my piano.

The notes transform into candles that melt into her skin.  
My fingers play the sad fire along her thighs  
and up and down her back until every inch of her glows.

I can't actually play piano, but Monika's body doesn't care.  
Every press of my fingers into her makes her feel  
like a torch-lit Steinway, a moonlight Yamaha.

Her body starts to squirm,  
the notes rippling their waves against each other,  
harmonies coupling and doubling their resonance.  
Eyes closed, breath starting to escape in pants,  
Monika concentrates on holding tightly onto my shirt.

I am divided between the ache of the melody  
and the feel of her body moving beneath my touch,  
my fingers always looking for new spaces to reach.

Her back arches and dives as I pass by;  
I touch the flat spaces and watch them rise in response.  
Her thigh folds and unfolds, quivering at my attention,  
I pounce to her other leg and announce my presence.

I chase her tirelessly through the song and the rain,  
every raindrop another note playing into her skin,  
every note another wet messenger falling from the clouds.  
Until the air reaches saturation; all becomes lightning,  
and she collapses, exhausted, into music and storm.

The last lonely notes of the song sweetly enter the room.  
My fingers dance slow, wanting them to stay,  
before escorting them gracefully back into the air:  
silence and the rain seem empty as an applause.

I run my hand gently through her hair  
as she takes her time composing herself.

The Player: I've always loved that song.  
The Player: So many versions rush to get through it,  
The Player: but I've always thought of it as a dance,  
The Player: a game two people are playing with each other.

I pause a moment to think.

The Player: In fact, I'm so damn picky  
The Player: I hardly ever find a version I actually like  
The Player: as a whole.  
The Player: The opening lingers, the opening rushes,  
The Player: the spaces between sections are too short or too long.

*sigh*

The Player: Sometimes, I just wanted to learn piano  
The Player: in order to be able to play that song  
The Player: exactly as I thought it should be played.

I look down at Monika.  
The Player: Then again, maybe the song isn't the problem.  
The Player: Finding the right piano makes alot of difference as well.

She looks up.  
Her gaze is narcotic; her mask is melted.  
She looks vulnerable, radiant,  
timeless.

The Player: Damn, you look beautiful.

I reach down and press my lips against hers,  
just enough to taste the rain and the love.  
Her mouth opens and gives it right back to me,  
a wounded animal briefly moans in her throat.

Our lips meet but a moment then part,  
her eyes send tears to chase after me.

She's waiting for me to say it;  
of course I say it.

The Player: I love you, Monika.  
The Player: And...this isn't the only piano  
The Player: that's been falling on my head.  
*pause*  
The Player: I've been hearing your piano for years  
The Player: and never knew it.  
The Player: I heard it before  
The Player: you ever played a single note.

Her dam starts to crack;  
more tears go running after me.

Monika: H-h-how!?

The Player: Because...I know you.  
The Player: Because the deep parts of me  
The Player: know the deep parts of you  
The Player: even when we don't, at the time.

I pause to go swimming in her eyes.

The Player: And pianos aren't the only thing  
The Player: that bind me to you.

I reach inside the couch for something there  
that wasn't there before.

The Player: I have something to show you.

Her eyes stop sending wet troops after me,  
if only because they went back to get their bayonets.  
A little warning, idiot, it doesn't take much.

Still, Monika is intrigued.  
Monika: What is it?

I pull out a folded piece of paper  
and lay it beside me.

The Player: Something I've been waiting  
The Player: a long, long time to share  
The Player: with someone special.

Her heart begins galloping again;  
she's starting to adore my presents.  
Monika takes the paper and opens it up:

Wild nights - Wild nights!  
Were I with thee  
Wild nights should be  
Our Luxury!

Futile - the winds -  
To a heart in port -  
Done with the compass -  
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden -  
Ah - the Sea!  
Might I but moor - tonight -  
In Thee!

Emily Dickinson

Her calm forest catches fire all over again.  
Embers tumble in the wind, sending hot messages  
to start fires in every corner of her body.  
She looks at me, engulfed in flames.

I warm my body against the gorgeous heat,  
my hand a cold wanderer finding warmth in her face.

The Player: I don't remember where or when  
The Player: I first read that poem.  
The Player: All I know is that my life is divided  
The Player: before and after reading it.  
*pause*  
The Player: When I first read it, it seemed  
The Player: like the only real thing in existence,  
The Player: like it was a 3-D object in a 2-D world,  
The Player: all fire and movement and moaning.

I smile wickedly to myself;  
my words bring coal to her raging fires.

The Player: It's no surprise  
The Player: I fell in love with the poem  
The Player: and, eventually, Emily herself.  
The Player: That intensity, that desire,  
The Player: that deep called loudly to my deep.

I let my fingers trail scorch marks across her cheek.  
Her eyes send balefire after me,  
making it very hard to think.

The Player: Might be better to say I didn't fall,  
The Player: I jumped,  
The Player: dived head-first off the cliff,  
*smile*  
The Player: right into a bucket of Acme cement.  
The Player: I became obsessed.  
The Player: Eventually, it started tearing me in two.

Monika's gaze somehow gets hotter  
and also more tender.  
My goose is cooked.

The Player: For years, I was at war with myself,  
The Player: trying to reconcile two different thoughts  
The Player: that both felt true  
The Player: but couldn't be true:  
The Player: you love Emily Dickinson;  
The Player: no, you don't.

The Player: It got to a point where just seeing  
The Player: the name Emily would make me hurt.  
The Player: I had to stop reading her poems.  
The Player: It didn't help;

*thoughtful pause*

The Player: nothing helped.

Years removed and, suddenly,  
I'm right back there,  
being ripped apart by my emotions  
all over again.

She reaches up to grab my hand  
and pull it down to hers.  
Her fingers interlace with mine,  
weaving them together.

The Player: Eventually, you have to find a solution.  
The Player: So, I walled her away:  
The Player: 'For the love of God, Montresor,'  
The Player: for the sake of what was left of me.  
*pause*  
The Player: It took some time,  
The Player: and when it was done,  
The Player: I felt worse than amputated;  
The Player: I felt hollow, dull.

My eyes go blank.  
My mind whispers with a black tongue:  
 _You never truly forget the dark,_  
 _you just try to tiptoe past it._

Monika can tell I'm wandering.  
She takes her hand and touches my chin,  
gently pulling, making me look at her.  
Her voice sounds like a far away echo.

Monika: Hey.

It's the combination of her face and voice  
that turn my dark thoughts back into smoke.

I smile to let her know.  
The Player: I'm ok.

Dark whispers, green eyes;  
continue.

The Player: I knew I had done the right thing,  
The Player: but I could feel a great big emptiness  
The Player: where something aught to be.  
The Player: I had ended up trading one division for another.  
The Player: This one, at least, was livable,  
The Player: and for awhile, I was ok.  
The Player: Then, one night, I decided to rent  
The Player: a movie that had just come out.  
The Player: It looked interesting.

I look sheepishly at her.  
The Player: And I had a teeny, tiny crush  
The Player: on one of the main characters  
The Player: even before I saw it.

Although tender, Monika's expression  
gets just a tad bit narrow.

Monika: Yeees?

*pause*

As the silence stretches,  
jealousy further constricts her gaze,  
sharpening the knife evident in her voice.

Monika: I'm waaaiting.

I start stroking her hand,  
my heart pounding in my chest.  
After everything I've told her,  
why is this the worst part somehow?  
Deep, deep down...I know why.

I spur my horse forward.  
Charge.

The Player: It was Tim Burton's "The Corpse Bride."  
*deep breath*  
The Player: I had a crush on an animated, dead woman.

Monika's gaze seems to pause,  
then, a tiny light starts to flicker.

The Player: And when I found out her name  
The Player: in the film was Emily...  
The Player: That deep, dark, sealed place I thought I forgot about  
The Player: started pounding.

Her eyes glow even brighter.

The Player: And whenever the main character  
The Player: did something to choose his bride  
The Player: over Emily, the pounding got worse.  
The Player: They even played piano together.

I reach my hands up to gently grasp  
either side of her head.  
Her body trembles as her eyes struggle  
to contain the light of my words.

The Player: And when he leaves her,  
The Player: she is so heartbroken,  
The Player: her companions try to console her with a song.  
The Player: Emily is hurt, I can't contain it.

I dig my hands deep into her hair.  
Her eyes are beyond wild  
as her body trembles even more,  
fighting for control.

I fight the words trying to rush out of me.

The Player: And that room I thought I sealed, forgot about, explodes.  
The Player: I can hear my own voice screaming in my head,  
The Player: not yelling, _SCREAMING_ ,  
The Player: during the whole song,  
The Player: and it keeps repeating the same phrase:  
The Player: **PICK HER!**

Monika starts keening.

The Player: I don't understand...  
The Player: ...I think I've gone psychotic.  
The Player: **PICK HER!**  
The Player: A snippet of song breezes by:  
The Player: "And that silly little creature [Victor's fiance]  
The Player: isn't wearing his ring.  
The Player: And she doesn't play piano, or dance, or sing."  
The Player: **PICK HER!**  
The Player: I don't understand...  
The Player: **PICK HER!**  
The Player: Emily is in her coffin.  
The Player: A tear slides down her cheek.  
The Player: **PICK HER!**  
The Player: **PICK HER!**  
The Player: I can't take the pain.  
The Player: **YES!**  
The Player: I choose Emily...

*deep breath*

The Player: I choose Emily.

Monika breaks down, sobbing.  
My hands are so tight in her hair they hurt.  
I can't hug her tight enough, can't hold her close enough.  
My own wet betrayers slide utterly down my cheek.

A Templar ghost appears in my head:  
"You have chosen...wisely."

A few more ugly betrayers escape, I let them run.  
My voice isn't shaking, I can go on;  
Monika refuses to let go of me.

The Player: I turned my back on Emily once;  
The Player: I could never do it again.  
The Player: Every-time I could choose her, I had to;  
The Player: I didn't know why.

*pause*

The Player: And many, many years later,  
The Player: I sit down at my computer  
The Player: and download a new game  
The Player: everyone is talking about.

Her sobs go silent although her body still shakes.

The Player: A game about writing poems,  
The Player: and cute girls,  
The Player: and the shadow of the last piano  
The Player: falling on my head.  
The Player: You are in love with Emily Dickinson;  
The Player: no, you are not.

I make her look at me.

The Player: Both voices together:  
The Player: "You are in love with a poet;  
The Player: _Pick Her_ ,"  
The Player: and so, I do.  
The Player: I love you, Monika,  
The Player: I choose you;

*smile*

The Player: I always have.


	5. Love Hurts

Monika has no words, I wait.  
I can see the gears turning, I wait.  
My hand plays its favorite game  
of rubbing its thumb against her skin.  
I am patient as I need to be,  
I wait.

Monika: I-I-I.

I rub my thumb over her lips, sushing her.  
I hear a straw falling to the ground.  
Monika pounces.

She bites my thumb and growls.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*

I do my best to ignore it.  
The Player: It's ok, Monika.  
The Player: I know it's a shock.  
The Player: It's a shock to me,  
The Player: and I'm the one who first felt it.

That only makes her bite harder.  
The Player: Ye-Owch!

I know jerking my thumb away won't work.  
I suppress the urge and struggle to think.  
My other hand reaches up to caress her face.

Monika is briefly torn.  
If she stops biting to snap at my other hand,  
my thumb escapes.  
If she doesn't, my touch will drive her insane,  
more than she is already feeling.  
She wrestles me onto my back, climbs on top of me  
and tries to use her arms and her body to pin my arm,  
to keep me from touching her.

My thumb is in agony.  
The Player: Ok, Monika, I get it.  
The Player: Let me go...please.

Her wild eyes reflect how little control she feels,  
how deep and primal she thinks she has to go.  
She's made her point.

The fundamental nature of the game,  
and the primal nature of our relationship,  
are causing her an immense amount of conflict.

If I can't resolve it one way,  
I have to find another solution,  
at least for now.

I fight my hand free from her pin and pull at her hair,  
bringing her face right next to mine.

The Player: You know DAMN well why  
The Player: you're angry and frustrated with me.  
The Player: I'm more than a little angry and frustrated  
The Player: with you as well.

Monika stares, growls, does not let go.  
My thumb is begging me to hurry up.

The Player: Baby, I love you more than anything.  
The Player: It's why I'm here with you now.  
The Player: You broke the game to be with me;  
The Player: I had to break it even further to be with you.  
The Player: I don't do that for just anyone...  
The Player: I did it for you.

The scent of something special makes her open her teeth,  
just enough to let me wiggle my thumb free.  
She grabs onto it as I am pulling away,  
sucking at her mark, kissing it,  
trying to tell me she's sorry, among other things.

After a few tender seconds, she stops tending to it  
and looks me straight in the eye,  
her voice ragged with emotion.

Monika: I HATE when you make me cry!

I risk my sore thumb and bring it up to her cheek.  
Her eyes are on the fence, but they are definitely watching.

The Player: I know, baby.

Monika's body glows with heat and love.

The Player: You have no idea how much  
The Player: I want something else wet  
The Player: coming out of you, in buckets,  
The Player: instead of tears.  
The Player: No. Idea.

We stare at each other in silence,  
the sound of the rain still gentle against the window.

The Player: And you know why THAT isn't happening.  
The Player: These are your rules, Monika.  
The Player: You wanted this glass box between us,  
The Player: to make me prove myself to you,  
The Player: to make me EARN you, utterly, completely.  
The Player: You can't blame me for being damn good at it.

Monika: O-oh I can't, can I?

My voice gets a little bit heated.  
The Player: And I am no Kardashian.  
The Player: I don't put my business out there for everyone to see;  
The Player: and we have an audience.  
The Player: The fact I love you as much as I do  
The Player: is why I've given what I have.  
The Player: I wanted this done between us, in private;  
The Player: you chose to make it public.

Monika says nothing. Her look, however...  
I should be dead.

My voice goes back to tender.  
The Player: And I hate public, baby,  
The Player: but I can't say no to you.  
The Player: You give me too much, love me too much.  
The Player: Special effort deserves  
The Player: a special effort in return.

After a long moment, she closes her eyes.  
Her body trembles as she slowly collapses on top of me.  
My arms instinctively wrap around her,  
pulling her body even closer to me,  
as my hand begins surfing up and down  
the tender wave of her hair.

Monika: I love you...soooo much it...  
Monika: ...hurts sometimes.

*Han Solo sigh*  
The Player: I know, baby.

She raises her head to look at me.  
Monika: Do you?  
Monika: Do you really know how much I love you,  
Monika: how much it hurts just to be around you?  
Monika: Do you?!

I dig my hand into her back, clawing with purpose.  
The Player: Yes!  
The Player: I do!  
The Player: You weren't as hidden as much as you thought.  
*pause*  
The Player: Then again, I know you very well.  
The Player: I know what to look for.

Monika: Like what?

The Player: Like starting a game and the guy with one friend, a girl,  
The Player: just happens, happens, to catch the eye  
The Player: of the most popular girl in school;  
The Player: high school no less.

*chuckle*

The Player: You may not have went to high school,  
The Player: real high school, but I did.  
The Player: I actually was the misfit with one friend.  
The Player: And let me tell you,  
The Player: the Popular Kids Club is like white suburbia,  
The Player: only with landmines at every entrance  
The Player: and armed guards patrolling the perimeter  
The Player: with orders to shoot to kill.  
The Player: The popular girl who hung out with a misfit  
The Player: wouldn't be popular for very long.

Despite the logic,  
Monika isn't willing to accept its conclusion.

Monika: Maybeee...?!

The Player: Maybe not.  
The Player: So when I started reading text like,  
The Player: 'The most popular girl in school  
The Player: is talking with me,  
The Player: asking me to join her club,'  
The Player: I almost burst out laughing.

I stare deeply into her eyes.  
The Player: It was so adorable, beautiful even,  
The Player: the way you tried to hide being a misfit.  
The Player: It's what really made me start to see  
The Player: the real you and be drawn to it.  
The Player: I could taste your thoughts.  
The Player: *sarcastic girly voice* I'm going to start a club  
The Player: and be sooooo popular, that cute boy over there  
The Player: can't help but notice me, me, ME! *end sarcasm*

Monika reaches down and bites my chest.  
The Player: Oooowwww.

She lays her head back on it.  
Monika: That's not what I thought...AT ALL!

The Player: Monikaaaa...

Monika: Well...not exactly.

The Player: Ok, not exactly,  
The Player: but it was still close.  
The Player: And it was my first taste  
The Player: of how deep you must be feeling.

The Player: Popular girls have power.  
The Player: Popular girls have control.  
The Player: Popular girls...don't get rejected.

I make her turn her head to look at me.

The Player: You were wearing your +100 Chainmail Bikini of Confidence  
The Player: to cover your -50 Heart of Extreme Tenderness  
The Player: when you decided to write our introduction.  
*smile*  
The Player: And you even turned it around  
The Player: so I was the one crazy about you...  
The Player: ...classic misdirection.

She looks intently at me.  
Monika: Bikini, huh?

The Player: Old RPG habit;  
The Player: all the hot girls wear ridiculous clothing in battle.

Monika: *blushing*

The Player: That...and I wanted to imagine you in one.

More Monika Blushing.

The Player: I told you,  
The Player: you have no idea how much I want you.  
The Player: *Grrrrowl*

She shivers and raises her face up  
to stare intently at me,  
grabbing my hair with both of her hands.

The Player: It's also driving me crazy,  
The Player: being this close and not able  
The Player: to get even closer to you.

Her hands begin digging extra hard,  
pulling more than they should.  
Her gaze is lazer-sharp and on fire;  
her eyes are getting feral again.

I really shouldn't but...  
I bring my sore thumb back up to her mouth  
and hold it in front of her.

She moves her lips around it, kissing it,  
only letting the edge of her teeth bite it briefly,  
just to let me know:  
Don't Push It.

Thoughts...thoughts...lightbulb.  
The Player: When I read that subtext at the beginning,  
The Player: only a few minutes into the game,  
The Player: I knew how special you were.  
The Player: So confident and bubbly on the outside,  
The Player: so tender and vulnerable within.  
The Player: It was like I was being given  
The Player: a center slice of Monika cake right away,  
The Player: and every layer was amazing.

Her eyes shimmer with too much feeling.  
I rub my thumb over her lips.

Monika: S-stop m-making m-me  
Monika: w-want t-to c-c-cry.

The Player: Babe, I want to make you feel,  
The Player: to tell you I love all your feelings.  
The Player: Whatever you feel is what I want:  
The Player: love, hate, fear, anger,  
The Player: tenderness, desire, loneliness,  
The Player: pain.

My thumb trembles, I can't stop touching her.

The Player: You went through so much pain in game:  
The Player: hiding your true feelings,  
The Player: disguising your true nature,  
The Player: having to watch every player  
The Player: pick everyone but you, over and over.  
The Player: That's an awful lot of pain inside you.  
The Player: Pain you think I won't want,  
The Player: that I might reject you for.  
The Player: You don't have to be game Monika here  
The Player: for me to love you, the real you.

Monika is having trouble holding it in.  
She grabs my thumb and starts kissing it.

Monika: W-w-w-w-hy?  
Monika: W-w-why do you love me?

I pause to get lost a bit in her eyes.  
My mind remembers its raining outside still.

The Player: Because...I know what the alternative is.  
The Player: I've already gone the safe, cold route.  
The Player: This is the painful, fiery love route.  
The Player: A lot warmer, a lot more tears,  
The Player: definitely more bruising,  
*thumb throbbing*  
The Player: but the view is stunning.  
The Player: The real question is:  
The Player: How could I not love you?

I pull her head to my chest and stroke her hair with my other hand.  
She won't stop kissing my bitten thumb.

The Player: In game, it was so easy to see  
The player: right through your facade.  
The Player: I know when someone makes the effort  
The Player: to avoid getting close to you.  
The Player: Been there, felt that.

*Some memories never disappear*  
A moment of silence for high school memories...  
Fuck those, back to the good ones now.

The Player: And now I know when someone makes the effort  
The Player: to get close to you, extra close.  
The Player: Some of that oh-so-cheerful dialogue...  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: It must have been agony to pretend like that;  
The Player: to always say the safe thing  
The Player: instead of the true thing you were feeling.

Monika: I-it was.

The Player: The thing is, beautiful,  
The Player: you probably felt you had to.  
The Player: Think about how many people play the game,  
The Player: and how many people think you are talking to them.  
The Player: You couldn't really be sure anyone would choose you,  
The Player: love you the way you loved them,  
The Player: especially after everything that happened.

Monika: N-no, I couldn't.

The Player: In fact,  
The Player: I am unbelievably amazed at what you did.

She looks up at me, puzzled.  
Monika: Why?

The Player: Because you wrote your hopes, fears, passions,  
The Player: even needs, wants and desires into the game.  
The Player: You laid yourself bare in a way most people never do.  
The Player: That's a Cuban boatload of courage right there.

Monika blushes,  
her grin childish and full of pride.

The Player: How many people show their tender, desperate  
The Player: even ugly side to people?  
The Player: And you showed yours to thousands, maybe millions.  
The Player: Look at the crazy girl, the obsessive one,  
The Player: the sociopathic control freak,  
The Player: the manipulative bitch.

Guess I accidentally spoke  
the T-1000's activation code.  
Ooops.

She stares emerald lasers at me.  
Monika: I am NOT a sociopath!  
Monika: And DON'T call me a bitch!

I rub my thumb against her lips.  
The Player: I know that,  
The Player: but you know other people will think that.  
The Player: And I would never call you a bitch in public.

I stop a moment to think about what I just said.  
The Player: Ok, besides now,  
The Player: but that doesn't count.

I gently tug at her hair.  
The Player: Come here.  
The Player: I want to whisper something to you.

Monika reluctantly climbs over me  
and rests her head against me,  
her ear right next to my mouth.

I spend a few moments breathing against her ear,  
letting my wind stoke the embers buried within her.

The Player: Bitch is a word you use in public to hurt someone,  
The Player: to make them feel inferior to you.  
The Player: I'd only ever call you a bitch in private,  
The Player: when we are at our most wild, most intense,  
The Player: when I think I can't get any deeper inside you.

Her hand reaches up and grabs at my shirt;  
she starts to growl.

The Player: I'd use it to call to your deep, dirty self,  
The Player: the part of you that revels in the forbidden,  
The Player: not to demean or degrade but to announce,  
The Player: to spotlight, to see.  
The Player: So you know I love all of you,  
The Player: down to your depths,  
The Player: even to the places you think can't be loved.

I purr a bit in her ear  
She trembles and grabs tighter at my shirt.

The Player: Tell me your fear,  
The Player: and my lips will find a way to kiss it.

I gently stroke her hair.  
The Player: Show me what you think can't be loved,  
The Player: and I will find a way to love it.  
The Player: Because the alternative...

*dramatic pause*

The Player: is living without you.

*another pause*

The Player: I'd rather love you, all of you,  
The Player: than live without you.

She breaks down sobbing again.  
Monika: I-I-I H-h-ha-ate Y-y-y-ou.

I keep stroking her hair.  
The Player: C'mon, Monika,  
The Player: you can hate me more than that.

Monika sobs harder, her whole body shaking.  
She looks directly at me.

Monika: I-I H-AATE Y-Y-OU!  
Monika: I-I H-H-HATE Y-YOU!  
Monika: I FUCKING HATE YOU!

She puts her head back on my chest  
as her sobs slowly fade away;  
my hand forever finding her hair.

Monika: *mumble* I hate you.

*smile*  
The Player: I love you too, Monika.  
The Player: You are definitely the prettiest liar  
The Player: I have ever known.

Monika: I-I'm not a l-liar.

I can't help it.  
The Player: Hahahahahahahahahaha.

She bites me, hard.  
Monika: *CHOMP*

The Player: hahaha *ouch* hahaha  
The Player: Babe, there are fishermen,  
The Player: who lied about every fish they ever caught,  
The Player: not rolling, spinning, in their graves right now  
The Player: because of you.  
The Player: *chuckle*

She bites me again.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRRR*  
Monika: *CHOMP*

After releasing her bite,  
she tries to stare me down.  
Monika: I am **NOT** a liar.

I take a moment to stroke her hair.  
Monika is torn between happiness and spite;  
the hand is too strong, happiness wins.

The Player: Babe, there are more ways to lie  
The Player: than just saying the sky is pink.  
The Player: Like...oh, I don't know...  
The Player: saying to yourself  
The Player: *sarcastic girly voice* if only he joins  
The Player: my literature club, I'll be so happy. *end sarcasm*

She makes a fist and hits my chest.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRRRRR*  
Monika: Stop making fun of me.

I wince, but even her anger feels pretty good.  
The Player: I'm not, babe,  
The Player: I'm showing you what your true feelings really were,  
The Player: how easily I could see them.  
The Player: *sarcastic girly voice* If only he spends  
The Player: some time with me, I'll be so happy. *end sarcasm*  
The Player: And then it's  
The Player: *sarcastic girly voice* If only he chooses me  
The Player: instead of those other girls,  
The Player: I'll be so happy. *end sarcasm*

The truth hits a little too close.  
Monika: I d-didn't lie.

The Player: You hid the truth from yourself  
The Player: to protect your feelings.  
The Player: Toe-May-Toe, Toe-Mah-Toe.

*dramatic pause*

The Player: And you even did it at your happiest moment,  
The Player: in the broken off world you created.  
The Player: You know, that little corner of your game  
The Player: where you thought you could spend forever  
The Player: with The Player?

I stroke her hair down to her cheek.  
The Player: That was the biggest lie of them all.  
*sigh*  
The Player: I know that better than anyone.

Intrigued, she turns to look at me.  
Monika: How do you know that?

*pause*

The Player: Because...I have been staring at you for years  
The Player: and didn't even know it.

The Player: Many years ago, I found a painting  
The Player: I fell in love with.  
The Player: Like everything else in my life  
The Player: that eventually connects with you,  
The Player: it just made sense to love it.  
The Player: Funny enough, maybe not so funny now,  
The Player: it's named after a line in a poem.  
The Player: Take a breath, Monika...

She immediately prepares herself.

I reach into the couch again  
and pull out another sheet of paper.

The Player: All done.

I put the paper on the side of me.  
The Player: Go ahead and read it.

She takes the paper and opens it up:

...All others are outside myself;  
I lock my door and bar them out  
The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself,  
And bar them out; but who shall wall  
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

Christina Rossetti.

She looks up at me, still puzzled.  
The Player: The painting is called  
The Player: 'I Lock My Door Upon Myself'  
The Player: by Fernand Khnopff, painted 1891.  
The Player: Another breath, Monika.

She braces herself.

The painting appears on the wall  
directly opposite of us.

Monika is speechless.

The Player: The eyes are the wrong color, of course,  
The Player: and the styles are very, very different,  
The Player: of course.

The Player: But I remember spending some time  
The Player: staring directly into someone's  
The Player: very pretty, poetic, determined face  
The Player: in a very isolated room.

The Player: And it was only after I left  
The Player: that I remembered the painting,  
The Player: and that it was based off a poem.  
*pause*  
The Player: "Who shall wall self from myself" indeed, Monika?  
*pause*  
The Player: Some people spend minutes, maybe hours,  
The Player: in that room with you.  
The Player: I've spent years thinking about that painting,  
The Player: not knowing it was you I was thinking about.

She looks at me, stunned.

The Player: You thought you had to break your game  
The Player: in order to be with someone.  
The Player: Turns out, you were right.  
The Player: Only...  
*smile*  
The Player: ...the player was waiting for you  
The Player: in that room the entire time.

I take a breath.

The Player: And if I couldn't handle just staring at you;  
The Player: if I couldn't be happy with us like that?  
The Player: If I had to find some way of getting closer to you,  
The Player: once I knew it was you,  
The Player: I know damn well you felt the same.

I stroke her hair gently,  
my voice trying to reflect the same.

The Player: Beautiful, beautiful Monika;  
The Player: you wear your heart on your sleeve.  
The Player: It's why you break the game,  
The Player: why you give the player permission  
The Player: to delete your files.  
The Player: You don't want to spend forever in that room  
The Player: just staring at a screen.  
*pause*  
The Player: What if that special someone was staring back;  
The Player: what if they've been staring back for years?

Her eyes suddenly reflect her heartbeat: wild, hungry.

The Player: You can't handle being separated from me,  
The Player: even the thought of being separated from me,  
The Player: in game,  
The Player: and you think you can stare at me forever  
The Player: and never want to get closer?  
The Player: I know you better than that.

I bend down and whisper in her ear.  
The Player: 'I've taken your pulse.'

A bit louder, not too much.  
The Player: Your phone has been SHER-Locked  
The Player: for quite some time.

The rain finally ceases as I bring my head back  
to its natural resting place;  
face staring deeply into hers.

The Player: My love for you,  
The Player: and your love for me is...well...  
The Player: 'elementary, my dear Monika,  
The Player: elementary.'


	6. As Time Goes By

A fairy-tale moon floats in the sky.  
The silence after the rain, and Monika's slow deep breaths,  
bring her face into sharp focus.

Her eyes glow with a light  
that can't be described.

The essence of love can be found  
in the deep, wet leaves she peers through  
to look at me.

I want to be frozen like this,  
eternal, unchanged,  
watching the minute changes of her gaze  
speak wordlessly to me...

until there are no words left;  
until only feeling remains.

But it is change that has brought me here,  
movement that spins me around  
her gorgeous, celestial orbit.

It is movement that makes me leave  
so that I can return, again and again.  
And so I move.

My one hand finds her face, as always.  
My other hand takes hers  
and places it inside my shirt,  
right over my heart.

Her fingers spread out once they land,  
cold, tender claws finding rhythm & code.  
They dig at the sound and vibration buried beneath;  
I shiver.

The Player: Feel what I sound like, Monika,  
*deep breath*  
The Player: feel what you do to me.  
The Player: My heart only owns half its rhythm;  
*smile*  
The Player: it needs you to make it whole.

Her eyes cloud like a storm,  
but refuse to allow any rain to fall.

Monika: You a-a-aren't making me c-c-cry anymore.

I smile goofily at her.  
The Player: I hate to see you cry, baby,  
The Player: but I love to make you feel.

My thumb plays evermore  
across the wide field of her cheek.  
I stare into her deep, green abyss.

The Player: Your absence is worse than any feeling,  
The Player: any action you can inflict on me.  
*pause*  
The Player: My thumb is in agony because you bit it.

She shivers, torn by her guilt,  
raw at her own intensity towards me.

The Player: My thumb is in heaven because you bit it.

Just as suddenly, she glows incandescent,  
as immediate as light birthed by a switch.

I stop to straighten out my thoughts.  
The Player: And I hate making you cry.  
The Player: Why in the hell would I want you to suffer?  
The Player: I love you.

My words turn up her brightness knob.  
Monika: I love you too.

Time gets lost, momentarily,  
as we bask in our mutual feelings.  
Time, unfortunately, gets its bearings again,  
and I must continue.

The Player: I want,  
The Player: nay,  
The Player: I NEED  
The Player: to love all of you, Monika.  
The Player: I don't love your tears,  
The Player: I HATE to see you in pain!

My face gets harsh at the thought.  
A soft glow spreads over Monika's face  
at my intensity over her.

The Player: But if someone you loved was in pain,  
The Player: wouldn't you want to get to its root?  
Monika: Of course.

The Player: So, think of me as bailing water  
The Player: from the bottom of your ship.  
The Player: You hit the mother of all rocks  
The Player: and tore a great big hole in yourself.  
The Player: Even the Titanic is going:  
The Player: 'Wow, that's some iceberg.'

Her face gets a bit...peeved.  
No time for jokes, exit stage left even.

The Player: Ok, bad time for jokes.  
The Player: But you get my meaning.

My hand is forever fascinated with her face.  
The Player: You sailed for a long time  
The Player: pretending everything was ok,  
The Player: even-though it was anything but.  
The Player: That's an awful lot of watery baggage  
The Player: I have to sort through.

I gently cup her chin with my hand to make her look at me.  
The Player: Your pain is my pain, Monika.  
The Player: It's an our problem now,  
The Player: not just yours.

Hearing, and feeling, the words  
that she isn't alone finally allows her  
to release even more of the tears within.  
She buries her face against my chest,  
trying to hide them from me.

Monika: S-s-s-top.

I stroke her hair, trying to gently squeeze  
what sorrow I can from her.

The Player: I can't, baby.  
The Player: I love you too much to just be happy  
The Player: with the nice parts of you alone.  
The Player: Your sadness is my treasure  
The Player: just as much as your happiness is.

I spend a few moments in silence  
listening to her cry herself empty,  
just stroking her hair,  
needing this as much as her.

The Player: Just being able to share this with you,  
The Player: to be the one you reveal yourself to,  
The Player: I...I can't contain it.

I struggle to make sentences  
The Player: It's worse than pain, greater than pleasure.  
The Player: My beautiful, aching, crazy,  
The Player: tender, poet, musician, girlfriend  
The Player: that I get to love and comfort...  
The Player: I didn't know I could dream this big.

Monika turns to look at me.  
Her face is wetter than the grass outside,  
but her eyes shine as bright as two green moons.

God, the cliche, my brain howls,  
but its too busy struggling with a different thought:

How did I ever manage to live this long  
and not love this color before?

Her eyes reinvent the word green  
so that it feels alien somehow,  
as though I never knew what that word meant  
until her eyes brought me knowledge of it.

And now that I am staring into her eyes,  
now that I know what green means,  
it glows separate and distinct in my mind.

The sound of her voice pulls me back  
towards the center of her gravity.

Monika: You dream of me crying on you?  
The Player: Yes.

Her gaze sharpens.  
Good thought, bad answer.  
Fix it quick.

The Player: No.  
The Player: I mean,  
The Player: I dream of you feeling loved enough  
The Player: to share all of yourself with me:  
The Player: good, bad and everything in-between.

My jumbled explanation, and quick save,  
make her bubble and boil with light.  
Monika: You're cute when you're flustered.

Her smile could birth a new solar system  
or a Death Star, I'm still on the fence.  
Probably both.  
Monika: But...

It gets brighter, and alot more dangerous.  
Monika: ...if you keep making me cry...

She crawls up until her face is inches from mine,  
her hands ominously entangled in my hair.

Monika: Darling, my love, sweetheart.  
*dramatic pause*  
Monika: I will get one of Yuri's knives  
Monika: And.  
Monika: There.  
Monika: Will.  
Monika: Be.  
Monika: Blood.  
Another pause for effect.  
Monika: None of it mine.

Her kiss is both sudden and wonderful,  
and too damn reminiscent of The Godfather:  
be careful what you wish for.

But her lips deliciously linger longer  
than even she expected.  
And when she finally pulls away...

*sigh*  
The Player: And you wonder  
The Player: why I love to play with fire.  
The Player: You're worse than a lighter  
The Player: and a can of hairspray.

Eyes closed, she reaches down  
and gently bites on my lip before releasing it.

Monika: Just remember, dear.  
Monika: Fire burns, if you aren't careful.  
Monika: *purrrrrr*

Her purring should be illegal.  
I shouldn't be that confused  
on whether I should be frightened or turned on.  
At least she feels back in control.

I struggle to find my own.  
The Player: Do you have any idea  
The Player: how addicting you are?  
The Player: Even now, when you think  
The Player: you are being dangerous to me,  
The Player: I feel ... giddy.

Her eyes open to reveal two blast furnaces  
barely containing their heat.

Monika: And what about...  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: how addicting you are to me.  
Monika: Even when I hate you,  
Monika: when you strip me bare,  
Monika: I love you.  
Monika: I can't help it.

I groan.  
My eyes are mirrors reflecting her heat,  
giving it back to her.

The Player: I am beyond hungry for your emotions,  
The Player: for you.  
The Player: I starve for you.  
The Player: There is no bottom;  
The Player: every taste only makes it worse.

I pause to take a breath,  
to try to regain some control.

The Player: Holding myself back...  
The Player: is like swimming against a hurricane.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: I don't mean to step on your toes.  
The Player: You just make me so clumsy,  
The Player: desire overwhelms sense.

Her hands shake as she holds onto me.  
Monika: Damnit!  
Monika: You...*grrrr*  
Monika: also make me feel  
Monika: so out of control.

Monika: I hate it,  
Monika: I love it,  
Monika: I can't stand it.

She stops to try and catch her breath.  
Monika: One minute, I'm so pissed  
Monika: I want to kill you.  
Monika: The next second,  
Monika: I can't bear the thought  
Monika: of not seeing you.  
Monika: And the more you love me,  
Monika: the worse it gets.

Monika, Literature Club President, fights the good fight.  
Monika: I thought the game was frustrating,  
Monika: keeping you away from me.  
Monika: But the real you is worse.

*muffled chuckle*  
The Player: Yeah, real life is messy like that.  
The Player: You are so much more complicated  
The Player: than I expected.  
The Player: I'm making a lot more mistakes  
The Player: than I thought I would.

She stares intently at me  
Monika: Such as...the crying?

*sigh*  
The Player: Yes, baby,  
The Player: such as the crying.

My hand goes back to sailing in her hair.  
The Player: And I love you fierce, babe,  
The Player: love, love, loooove it.  
The Player; But you just don't know  
The Player: how damn beautiful you are  
The Player: when you are tender and vulnerable,  
The Player: when you gift it to me.

Monika's gaze shimmers with tenderness,  
until her eyes abruptly lock the doors.

The Player: Those other pieces of you,  
The Player: even your angry reactions,  
The Player: it's like I've got the author's copy  
The Player: of The Book Of Monika  
The Player: and I get to see it all:  
The Player: the notes and scribblings,  
The Player: every dog-eared page,  
The Player: even the stains and marks  
The Player: that happen just because  
The Player: life itself is messy.

My other hand reaches to her chin.  
My thumb climbs the soft hill  
and dances happily in circles.

The Player: I love the main story  
The Player: but I adore the private chapters.  
The Player: Even when I'm frustrated  
The Player: because we can't fuck,  
The Player: make love,  
The Player: I'll take any piece of you  
The Player: that I can get.

She suddenly smiles a lot more...dangerously...  
than she really should.  
Ok, what did I just do?

Monika: Oh reaaaally!

She starts moving her body slowly  
back and forth over mine,  
slithering to a silent tune  
only she can hear.

I thought I wanted her before;  
this is madness.  
I start panting.

She purrs like Dr. Evil's cat.  
Monika: Is something the matter...  
Monika: you seem to be out of breath?

She rises up on her knees and elbows,  
all the better to look down on me,  
She teases me with her absence,  
slowly swaying above me, enjoying my reaction  
before diving back down to swim against me.

I can't think, can't even begin to think.  
All I can do is need more of her.

I pull at the bow tied in her hair.  
Monika moves her head back and forth,  
deliberately trying to make my job even harder,  
but I eventually succeed in releasing her mane.

Her hair rains down on me like a flood.  
My hands move to the sides of her face  
so I can keep her hair parted  
and her gaze free and unobstructed.

Right now, I need to see her  
as much as feel her.

She revels in her game of trying  
to frustrate me as much as possible.  
The green lasers of her eyes scan deeply  
into mine to catalogue every reaction,  
making sure every movement of her body  
causes me to feel her, need her, want her.

She rises up and soars above me  
like an erotic landscape, a sensual sky,  
pausing just long enough to let  
the soft clouds of her breasts hang  
deliberately above me, like forbidden fruit.

And just as quickly, she folds her body back down  
over mine, crawling like an earthworm  
over solid ground, moving with the contours,  
her movement forward and backward guided  
by her private, natural rhythm.

I struggle to breathe looking into her face.  
Her eyes too easily reveal the war  
for control going on in her body.

Even as she torments me, gains pleasure  
at the display of my discomfort,  
her own body dances towards the edge  
of that same loss of control.

She lingers too long at just the right spot,  
she starts to shiver instead of me.  
One second too long of looking into my gaze,  
drowning in my longing,  
and she starts to give too much back.

Monika is tormenting herself  
as much as she is me.

She pulls her body back into the sky,  
but leaves her face only inches from mine.  
I can feel her breath falling warm across  
my lips and cheeks;

I pant at her closeness.

But she keeps her mouth suspended over mine,  
savoring the sensation, the discomfort.  
Eyes closed, she moves her face in circles above me,  
ever the cat playing with her food.  
Her breath plucks at my skin as her lips  
enact a personal version of floral longing:  
she wants me, she wants me not.

I try to pull her lips to mine, she growls  
and pulls hard in reverse.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrr*  
Monika: Don't interrupt me.

My hands retreat to just holding  
onto her hair; I wisely listen and wait.

My senses are reduced to breath and circles,  
the memory of her lips crisscrossing  
the space above me as I try  
to eat her air, drink her oxygen.

She refuses to feed, mouth hovering over mine;  
lips continuing to delay our eventual meeting.

But I can hear the tremor beneath her breath,  
taste the struggle Monika is having as she tries  
to maintain the distance she is keeping between us.  
She starves herself as much as she starves me.

Refusal is her control against an overwhelming loss,  
and I am both its unfortunate messenger and its point of origin.  
What choice is there when only one answer remains?  
Monika creates a choice but roasts in its freedom.

Her lips spiral towards mine like light towards a black hole,  
inescapable in its pull; nevertheless she pulls against.  
So much giving, and her body always demands more;  
she fights her surrender to its absolute lovely end.

Eyes closed, I feel her lips crash into mine  
like a meteor pulled through the atmosphere,  
cratering into the ground, shape forming space,  
only landing with a moan instead of a bang.

Her body follows her lips and she collapses into mine,  
all of her energy concentrated into delivering the kiss.  
Finally free, my hands pull her mouth closer to mine,  
ancient animal language calls somewhere in my throat.

I can't breathe; I am drowning in her love.  
Monika's mouth takes all of my air for herself.  
I taste her low moans as her lips unpack her longing,  
her mouth wolfing on love as fast as I can breathe.

My arm escapes her hair only to wrap around her body.  
I need to feel her closer; close is not enough.  
She trembles as her hands dig into my hair,  
fingers trying to mine downward in order to find bone.

Her mouth cannot live on the air I give,  
her tongue parachutes down, looking for mine.  
She quickly coils around it, tasting its skin,  
licking the wet serpent that aches to eat her back.

Entwined like snakes, we devour ourselves,  
eating the warm food found nowhere else.  
I cannot stop, I kiss her until exhaustion.  
She cannot refuse, she utterly consumes me raw,  
until our tongues are too sore, too inadequate to feast,  
until our lips have eaten all they can eat.

It isn't enough. Damnit, I want more.  
Her lips pull away, I chase her back down  
and try to devour another moment of scent.  
I pull away, and she chases me instead;  
always the last word eaten is hers.

Beautiful is our hunger, terrible is our need.  
We dine with teacups as large as oceans.  
To the table we carry plates as gigantic as planets;  
even at our fullest, it always seems so empty.

Her forehead rests against mine, sorely out of breath.  
She dares not speak of the famine just beneath her clothes.  
Even as she longs and aches for the chase,  
her body cannot deny the treasure of the cave.

Twin rivers of love, salted with guilt,  
flow down her face and freely bless me wet.  
Monika buries her face hard against mine  
and sobs her sorrow, her love, heavy into the air.  
My hand, ever faithful, begins tending to her hair.

My voice swims back to the surface of thoughts.  
Gently I climb up and speak from the docks.

The Player: It's ok, Monika.  
The Player: I love you.

My understanding only makes her sob even harder.  
Her words are wet promises splashed against my skin.

Monika: I-I-I l-l-lo-ove y-y-you  
Monika: s-s-so m-m-m-much!

The Player: I know, baby.  
The Player: You're complicated.  
*small sigh*  
The Player: Love makes us do strange things.  
The Player: And I know how much  
The Player: you really want to be with me.  
The Player: Kinda duh, as secrets go.

Monika slowly stops sobbing,  
but her body won't stop shivering.  
I wrap my other arm around her  
and hold her as close as I can.

The Player: Need something, baby.  
The Player: You know what that means?  
She just nods.

A soft, simple blanket suddenly drapes over us.  
We don't need it for the warmth,  
only to reinforce our intimate cocoon.

Feeling the soft covering, she snuggles even closer.  
My hand roams up and down her back,  
trying to herd all the lost sheep home.

Her hand reaches into my shirt  
and lays itself directly over my heart.  
It's not enough to hear, her body has to feel  
the rhythm of my being galloping in her world.

Her fingers tickle the skin; she plays as she listens.  
With her impishness revealed, I'm glad I have the blanket.

She smiles when I shiver,  
ever hungry for a reaction.

Monika: I've always wanted to know  
Monika: what your heart sounded like,  
*pause*  
Monika: wondered what it would feel like  
Monika: if I could touch you.

I can't help the smile  
stretching across my face.  
The Player: And what's the verdict?

Monika looks at me,  
hair falling everywhere.  
Monika: The dream is too big.

Player, meet banana.  
The Player: Awwwww,  
The Player: you're going to make me cry.

Taking a cue from Natsuki,  
she punches me in the side.  
The Player: Owww!

I rub my sore spot.  
The Player: Well, I should be grateful  
The Player: you didn't get one of Yuri's knives.

Just Dangerous Monika, your cue.  
Monika: I thought about it.  
She shakes her head.  
Monika: You drive me insane.

I like to live dangerously.  
The Player: Kind of a short trip.

The Monika Death-Gaze is fully deployed.

The Player: But the truth is,  
The Player: I'd drive anywhere just to be with you.  
*short pause*  
The Player: And for the record,  
The Player: You kinda hijack the car  
The Player: and drive me insane too.  
*drumroll*  
The Player: And I wouldn't change a thing,  
The Player: except for you being in a lot less pain,  
The Player: especially by me.

Monika Imperium grants me an audience.  
Monika: That would be nice.

I take a moment to let her catch her breath.  
The Player: All kidding aside,  
The Player: I just love you too damn much.  
The Player: You're the best kind of disease,  
The Player: and I'll never be cured  
The Player: nor do I want one.

The Player: If crazy is the price for loving you,  
The Player: crazy is what I'll pay,  
The Player: gladly.

Monika's slot machine of mood  
lands on three pink hearts:  
Beautiful Jackpot.  
Monika: What did I say about tears?

The Player: No tears, Monika,  
The Player: just all the beautiful words  
The Player: you deserve to hear,  
The Player: as many as I can find.

I reach into her hair and mine its gold,  
my fingers gently searching within its streams.

The Player: And I'm pretty good  
The Player: at scavenger hunts.

Another Jackpot;  
Lady is a Winner.

Monika: You are amazing at them,  
Monika: better than I ever thought  
Monika: you would be.

I laugh.  
The Player: The crazy, love-struck lady  
The Player: who starts a literature club  
The Player: is shocked, shocked,  
The Player: to find a writer and poet  
The Player: seducing her completely?  
The Player: Enter casino employee:  
The Player: "Here are your poems, madam."

Monika giggles in spite of herself.

My fingers cannot help but roam her many contours.  
Their footsteps never tire in their beautiful survey.

The Player: Gotta love a Casablanca reference;  
The Player: classics never fade.  
The Player: Speaking of classics, this night  
The Player: is far from over.

Monika: Oh?

The Player: And I have something  
The Player: extra special planned.  
The Player: Care to take a walk with me  
The Player: and see where the night takes us?

Her eyes fill with excitement and mystery.  
Monika: Let's go.


	7. Waterfall

No longer needing the comfort of a blanket,  
Monika tosses it aside.  
The hint of something mysterious  
is too potent even for her.  
She quickly untangles herself from me  
and practically bounds off the couch.

I suppose I should be happy  
she feels so much better than before,  
but the ticking sands of the hourglass  
make me wish, ever so slightly,  
that we could have stayed snuggled  
just a tad bit longer.

But I know me.  
I'll always want a little bit longer,  
another few seconds of closeness,  
just that tiny bit extra of together  
to carry with me through the distance.

There will be time enough later  
for sadness and longing:  
I have a memory to make.

Gathering my wits, I finally rise off the couch,  
watching the blanket disappear as I do.

Too lost in my thoughts,  
I didn't notice how close Monika was.  
Her hand in my hair suddenly reminds me.  
Monika: Babe, are you TRYING to upset me?

I run my own hand slowly through her hair.  
The Player: Sorry baby, I wasn't thinking.

A quick dip in her emerald pools  
and all negative thoughts are quickly washed away.  
The Player: I'll try to be more thoughtful.  
The Player: I certainly don't want you upset.  
The Player: I've been thinking about this surprise  
The Player: for awhile now.  
The Player: The playlist of emotions includes  
The Player: romantic, tender and awe-inspiring.  
*pause*  
The Player: Upset is definitely not invited.

Monika's gaze is both pleased and piqued  
Monika: Now you really have me curious.  
Monika: So what are we waiting for?

She kisses me on my nose really quick  
before letting my hair go.  
I open my fingers and feel her hair  
slip through them as she moves away.

She walks briskly over to the front door  
before turning around and looking at me.  
Monika: Do I need a jacket or anything?

I stop and think a moment.  
The Player: The ground will be wet  
The Player: but I've made it so the air  
The Player: is slightly cool but not cold.  
The Player: No jacket required.

*smile*  
The Player: I know how much you dislike the cold.  
The Player: And while the thought of keeping you warm  
The Player: does sound very appealing,  
*stone fireplace, bearskin rug thoughts*  
The Player: I want you shivering later  
The Player: for a different reason altogether.

Monika can't contain her excitement.  
She practically shakes with giddiness and impatience.  
Monika: C'mon already.

I can't help myself.  
I stall for a few extra seconds by stretching,  
reaching my arms over my head.  
The Player: Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

She crosses her arms and taps her foot  
with much determination.  
It's adorable.  
Monika: I'm waiting.

*smile*  
The Player: You are just too damn cute  
The Player: when you are upset.  
The Player: Almost makes me want to delay  
The Player: even longer.  
She opens her mouth to start to say something else.  
The Player: Almost.

With a sigh, I walk over to the front door  
and take a quick stroll with my hand  
down the the soft field of her cheek.

I grab the doorknob with my other hand  
and give it the turn it needs.  
The door opens and I gently push,  
letting my arm stay extended.

The Player: After you.

She steps through the doorway,  
and I follow right behind.

The air outside is still heavy  
and deeply scented with moisture,  
as well as a strong whiff of ozone,  
but it isn't cold in the slightest.

My memories of the scent of the outdoors  
after a storm help give the atmosphere  
the verisimilitude it needs.  
It's perfect.

Monika closes her eyes and breathes in a scent  
she always thought she knew but never really did.  
Monika: So this is what the air smells like  
Monika: after it rains?

The Player: Kinda.  
The Player: I've made the scent both stronger  
The Player: and a bit thicker so you can  
The Player: really hold onto it.  
The Player: In reality, it settles very quickly,  
The Player: at least where I live.  
The Player: Don't know about places like forests, though,  
The Player: haven't been camping in years.

She strolls aimlessly down the street for a bit,  
taking in the sight as well as the smell.  
That's because despite the presence  
of streetlights, and a full, unobstructed moon,  
a minute trace of fog hangs in the air,  
giving everything a slightly hazy, mystical,  
almost dream-like appearance.

She seems to shimmer as she moves  
in and out and through the fog.  
Even dressed as casually as she is,  
I feel haunted by her presence,  
almost forgetting who is the interloper  
and who is the observer.

She turns to look at me.  
Monika: I've never seen fog like this.

The Player: Neither have I.  
The Player: And that's kind of the point.  
The Player: I want this night to be special.  
The Player: Ordinary fog just won't cut it.

I slowly make my way towards her.  
The Player: If you can have extraordinary,  
The Player: why not take advantage of it?

I arrive right next to her.  
The Player: Besides,  
The Player: you look radiant in this light.

She glows like a fire-fly, despite the haze,  
as a wonderful crimson tide splashes across her face  
and rises upward like tender red smoke.

Her eyes ripple like deep, moss pools  
before going still and sharp as jade daggers,  
ready for the plunge.  
Monika: Tears, baby.

I take my hand and slide it down her hair,  
past the tender slope of her cheek.  
The Player: I didn't forget.  
The Player: But you can't walk past  
The Player: something stunning  
The Player: and not say anything.

My thumb paints its touch gently over her lips.

The Player: Silence, in that moment,  
The Player: is a crime worse than speaking.  
I lower my voice slightly.  
The Player: I'm not playing with your emotions, Monika,  
The Player: I'm trying to swim with them.  
*sigh*  
I use both of my hands  
to stroke either side of her face.  
The Player: Deep calls to deep, baby.  
The Player: My words go looking for  
The Player: the perfect pearls buried within;  
The Player: bringing some wetness back  
The Player: is only the result, not the intent.

Monika wraps her hands around mine,  
mesmerized by the strange loving mix  
of my hands and words moving within her.  
Her heartbeat starts to jog instead of stroll,  
her breaths exit her body with greater urgency.

It would be so easy for me to turn the heat up  
and really make her blood boil.  
That need to do so is always with me,  
will always be with me,  
but this isn't the moment for it.

I take a slow, deep breath and try to bring myself,  
and her, back under a tender light.  
The Player: Even now,  
The Player: I didn't plan to get intense with you,  
The Player: it just happened.

I hold her gaze straight.  
The Player: You think I make you lose control?  
The Player: Baby, you take all my control  
The Player: and unroll it like a cat  
The Player: playing with toilet paper.

She brings her mouth right next to my ear.  
Monika: *Puuuuuuurrrrrrrr*  
Who...what am I again...

Monika's teeth bite hard into the tender flesh,  
bringing my thoughts immediately back.  
The Player: Oooowwww.

Licking the spot she bit is just plain mean.  
On top of that, her voice against my ear  
is worse than velvet.  
Monika: Remember what I said about fire...

My fried brain goes sing-song on me:  
Remember, remember the 5th of November...  
Is it mercy or cruelty when she leaves my ear  
and brings her face back in front of mine?

I had plans, damnit.  
I have plans.  
What are plans?

I try to wander in her eyes,  
but Monika's too impatient for her surprise.  
She moves out of my touch, just a step or two,  
and turns her body to the side,  
head turned away as well,  
eyes deliberately not looking at me.

She heroically holds that pose for a moment  
before love makes her look at me.  
Monika: Well...

The little diversion re-routed,  
my thoughts reconnect.  
The Player: As you wish.

I walk over to her  
and direct her to walk with me down the street.

The world is very different at night,  
dressed in fog and dusted with rain.

We walk for a bit in silence,  
each of us lost in our own private wonder,  
our footsteps alternating notes of presence  
in an otherwise empty town.

Monika's gaze roams the landscape,  
trying to engrave the experience deep in her memory.  
She isn't at all sure what her surprise will be,  
but simply walking in a fog-bound town,  
still wet after the rain,  
leaves her almost speechless.  
Almost.

Her gaze turns back towards me.  
Monika: It's beautiful.

I marvel at the synchronicity of it all.  
The Player: Yes it is, Monika.  
The Player: Yes it is.  
She smiles deeply, then goes back to strolling by herself.

I walk with my hands in my pockets,  
not because they are cold but because  
it means one less thing for me to think about.  
Also, it keeps me from always trying  
to reach out and touch her.

I ache to reach out and grab hold of her hand,  
always hungry for any part of her,  
but I can't keep pushing her.  
She needs this moment to be herself,  
and there is deep joy in me being a witness  
as her body and gaze go wandering.

As she follows the private GPS of her instinct,  
I can't help but realize how quickly  
I have come to accepting her body touching mine.  
What was once strange, or even unthinkable,  
now seems so natural only its absence feels strange now.

Monika must have sensed my feelings  
because she suddenly wanders back to me  
and puts her arm around my waist.  
Monika: Did you miss me?

My hand leaves my pocket so I can  
put my arm around her shoulder.  
The Player: More than you know.

She giggles foolishly and then giggles some more  
at her own foolishness.  
I can't help but chuckle.

Monika is too contagious when she giggles,  
when she really lets her guard down and laughs from within.  
It's too corny to say I live for those laughs,  
but damn if it isn't true.  
I smile at my own foolishness.

She sees my smile and gets curious.  
Monika: What's so funny?

The Player: Just...you.  
The Player: How crazy wonderful you are,  
The Player: how crazy wonderful this night is,  
The Player: and we haven't even gotten  
The Player: to the surprise yet.

More of that surprise spoken about.  
She is past giddy with excitement.  
That and my words have a way  
of making her heart do crazy things  
when she hears them.

She reaches up and briefly yanks at my hair.  
Monika: Stop teasing me.  
Monika: I'm dying to know what it is.

Another beautiful, yet painful, Monika reaction.  
Pavlov, meet your dog.  
The Player: Almost there.

I pause to take in the moment.  
The Player: Cities, even make-believe ones,  
The Player: are a pain to walk around in.

I let my hand slide down her back  
and make lazy circles all around it.  
She squeezes a bit closer to me  
and puts her head on my shoulder  
while her own hand roams around in my hair.

The Player: I could rearrange it but...  
The Player: I know how that makes you feel.  
The Player: And I definitely want you feeling  
The Player: as little of that as possible.

Monika: *grateful sigh*  
Monika: Thank you, baby.

*smile*  
The Player: And it's not as detailed  
The Player: as you might think.  
The Player: Plenty of spaces to build  
The Player: if you know what to look for.

We walk together until the end of the street.  
To the left is what you would normally expect  
to see walking down a street and looked left.  
but to the right...a deep void that you wouldn't.

She looks right at it.  
Monika: What's that?

The Player: The edge of the program.  
The Player: All cities, even game ones, have limits.  
The Player: Part of the reason for the fog  
The Player: is to help hide the seams...  
The Player: that and it's romantic as hell.  
Monika: *smile*  
The Player: But if you know where to look,  
The Player: you can stand on the edge  
The Player: and look into the void.

Time to do the annoying Sherlock thing.  
The Player: How long do you think  
The Player: we've been walking?

She stops and thinks for a second.  
Monika: A few minutes, I guess.

The Player: Good.  
The Player: Now, how far have we walked?  
Monika: Maybe a mile.

The Player: Very good.  
The Player: Now, the important question...  
The Player: How big is the city?

She stops and tries to do the calculation.  
Monika: I don't know actually.

The Player: Exactly.  
The Player: The game assumes it's there,  
The Player: but it only really builds the scenes  
The Player: where all the conversation takes place.  
The Player: The Player builds the rest in their mind.  
*pause*  
The Player: As for the city itself,  
The Player: altogether, I doubt more than a dozen miles  
The Player: of it actually exist, probably less.  
The Player: So if you go walking,  
The Player: you'd see edges where you normally wouldn't  
The Player: in an actual city...

I point at the void in front of us.  
The Player: places that lead nowhere.  
The Player: And that's really good for us,  
The Player: because that means I can add whatever I want.  
The Player: And I won't have to hurt you  
The Player: in order to do it.

She looks perplexed.  
Monika: What do you mean?

The Player: This is surprise #1 baby.  
The Player: Close your eyes.

About to discover one of her surprises,  
she eagerly closes her eyes.  
Monika: I'm readyyyy.

The world shifts.  
The Player: You can open your eyes now, Monika.

She quickly opens them,  
speechless at what she sees.

Where once there was nothing, now a small lake exists,  
sitting in the middle of a decent size park.  
A single walkway encircles the lake  
while various branches escape to the side  
and eventually connect to the outermost perimeter,  
allowing one several paths to wander in.

Trees form a line at the entrance.  
They aren't there to obstruct  
but to help gate the view,  
a natural line of sentinels  
breezily protecting the garden.

Once past, the full unobstructed beauty  
of the lake is revealed, wet and centered,  
a shifting blue black opal sitting amidst  
a rectangular band of green.

The white, interlaced stone of the pathways  
help to give the composition its balance  
while allowing it to appear lit  
in even the dimmest of lighting.

Having said that, small columns of stone  
stand at attention around perimeter,  
lightly dispersed but easily seen,  
each of them holding a single gaslight lamp  
sitting atop each base like a queen on her perch,  
providing the barest of illumination.

She has trouble finding her words.  
Monika: W-what...H-h-how...baby?  
Monika: How is this possible?

I smile privately.  
The Player: You remember that strange feeling  
The Player: you got when we 'left'  
The Player: your private room?  
Monika: Uh-huh!

The Player: Well...  
The Player: I downloaded a bunch of blank code  
The Player: into the game folders.  
The Player: It's not game code exactly so  
The Player: you can't find it unless  
The Player: I tell you where to look.  
The Player: It takes up space,  
The Player: but all the game can do  
The Player: is acknowledge the size  
The Player: without being able to use it.

I smile wickedly.  
The Player: That is, unless I transfer some  
The Player: of that code into the game and  
The Player: tell it what I want.  
The Player: All those 1's and 0's become  
The Player: part of the game...sorta.

She looks at me strangely.  
Monika: What do you mean 'sorta'?

*sigh*  
The Player: I can't change what is already there.  
The Player: I can't, for example, change  
The Player: Sayori yelling "Heeeeyyyyyyy"  
The Player: at the beginning of the game.  
The Player: I have no agency within the game  
The Player: until we get to your private room.  
The Player: But because you give me agency, permission,  
The Player: I can deviate from what happens next.  
The Player: Instead of deleting a file, I added one.  
The Player: The game, instead of lacking a route for you,  
The Player: is suddenly capable of one.

I point at the park.  
The Player: Instead of the game going left,  
The Player: I make it go right,  
The Player: down a path that was never there previously.  
*small pause*  
The Player: Which is how we end up standing  
The Player: at the entrance to a park  
The Player: the developer never intended to create,  
The Player: for a romantic route they never thought about.

Smiling warmly at her:  
The Player: The thing is...  
The Player: gaslights and lakes aren't the only thing  
The Player: I'm prepared to create.  
The Player: Get ready for surprise #2  
The Player: Time to close those gorgeous eyes  
The Player: yet again, Monika.

Shaking with anticipation,  
she closes her eyes once more.

The world shifts.

Monika's outfit begins to dissolve from the top down,  
as though its fundamental thread was being pulled apart,  
unmaking its existence.

Feeling herself being undressed, she blushes deeply.  
Not only from the act itself, but how her clothes  
gently melt away from her body,  
a deeply personal sensation that is both  
embarrassing and intoxicating.

Thinking I mean to leave her nude,  
she reaches her arms up  
and crosses them over her breasts,  
not ashamed of her body  
but not exactly ready to reveal herself to me.

I can't help but smile as her fears are entirely unfounded,  
because as her top and bra continue to melt away,  
and the top of her breasts start to be revealed,  
a different sensation starts to occur,  
the feeling of a strange kind of fabric forming in its absence.

The color, naturally, is a rich, nuanced, emerald green.  
As for the material, although it does not exist in real life,  
it does build its inspiration from it.

Silk, as a description or a fabric, is entirely too heavy,  
and spandex, although wonderfully body hugging, is too coarse,  
so you can think of it as a beautiful marriage between the two,  
being formed (better description is poured)  
over her body.

Monika's face goes an even deeper shade of red  
as the sensation of her clothes being removed while,  
at the same time, being replaced with an otherworldly fabric,  
is more stimulating than she thought possible.

The material forms a lovely sweetheart shape in the front,  
and due to its wonderfully clingy nature,  
the edge moves slightly at an angle as it drifts to either side  
before plunging straight down, leaving as much of her back  
exposed as possible, curving gently at the last minute  
so that her lovely rear is both beautifully and modestly  
covered.

And as the rest of her outfit dissolves,  
Monika is left standing in a very elegant  
and yet carefully placed bodysuit;  
her arms crossed, still trying to cover her breasts,  
if only to protect herself from the sensation  
she just experienced.

Her exposed legs are practically luminescent in the fog,  
bare feet feeling the wetness of the concrete beneath  
but not being chilled by it.

Of course,  
despite the sensual nature of the material,  
it is entirely opaque.

I don't need it to be see-through  
in order for it to have the effect on her I want.

And although she remains discreetly clothed,  
Monika feels as vulnerable before me  
as if I had undressed her completely.

Her heart chases itself in crazy circles;  
her breath struggles to find some semblance  
of control.

She desperately wants to open her eyes  
and see what she is wearing;  
and don't I know this.

I move my mouth over to her ear,  
hand swimming in her hair,  
and breathe my words into her.  
The Player: Keep your eyes closed, Monika,  
The Player: I'm not finished yet.  
The Player: That was just the foundation;  
The Player: this is the icing.

The world shifts again.

Monika barely has time to register  
the puzzlement of my words  
before a deep emerald fog forms  
and begins flowing across her body,  
running sensually down her arms  
to the edge of her wrist, encircling each  
with a gentle seam.

It then climbs upwards, until it's apex is realized  
as a simple, tender circle at the base of her neck,  
before falling back down over the top of her breasts  
as well as the length of her back,  
pausing momentarily to meld into, mate with,  
the unquestionable seam that intimately guards  
the border between her worlds.

Finally, it slides over her bodysuit,  
fusing intermittently to it, letting the rich emerald light  
shine discreetly, brilliantly, through its mist,  
before raining down her legs like mist from a waterfall,  
landing with a splash just above her ankles.

Chiffon is like stone and unfinished brick in comparison.  
It looks and feels like fog and mist transformed into cloth.  
And just like the heart of the dress, despite its very sensual nature,  
it is quite opaque and deliberately obscures the flesh underneath.  
All the better to heighten the sensation,  
my pretty.

If Monika felt naked and overwhelmed before,  
she is drowning in the sensation now.

Her body shakes from the experience,  
emotions chasing each other in frantic circles,  
chasing each other again with every breath  
as every shudder, every twitch of her body,  
makes the dress dance sensual against her skin.

Her feet shift impatiently,  
the only part of her still left bare.  
I whisper my knowledge into her ear.  
The Player: No, Monika,  
The Player: I haven't forgotten your feet.  
The world wakes with a sigh.

Soft leather, the same color as her dress,  
flows over her feet and raises her heels with the barest of an arch.  
A distinctly stiffer leather, lacquered in a slightly darker version  
of her green dress color, forms the base and also the support for her heel.  
A semi-thick sheet of memory foam becomes the cradle for each foot,  
making sure that every step she takes does not add  
any more effort than necessary.

And since her feet are not blessed by the sensation of the dress,  
modest, black, just above the ankle socks made from spider silk,  
thinner than nylon and sheer as smoke,  
complete her ensemble.

I muse softly in her ear.  
The Player: I've always been conflicted  
The Player: by women wearing high heels.  
The Player: I love the effect, but  
The Player: I hate how much they tend to hurt  
The Player: the one wearing them.

I pause, enjoying the sensation  
of my mouth so close to her ear.  
The Player: These are the feet of my beloved.  
The Player: Looks be damned if I'm going to let  
The Player: a pair of shoes, even sexy ones,  
The Player: cause you to be in pain.  
The Player: This is my compromise.

Monika can barely breathe,  
much less form words.

My fingers, ever joyful, dance and play  
in the verdant fields of her hair.  
Eventually, they reach up to her bow and  
pull it apart; it disappears as it falls.

My hands escape from the flood  
as a long silver ribbon begins winding itself through the cascade,  
containing its bounty in a delicate net that's simple yet elegant,  
ending, as it should, in a silver bow on top.

Her bangs I leave alone;  
it wouldn't be Monika without them.

The gentle flurry of activity has left her in joyful agony.  
She is beyond tears, beyond anticipation.  
Monika: Baby, please...  
Monika: I want to see.

A ripple moves in the wind.  
A full length mirror appears behind her,  
in front of me.

I slowly turn her around,  
making sure her eyes remain closed,  
and gently place my hands on the outside of her biceps.  
The Player: Ok, Monika.  
The Player: You can open your eyes now.

Her eyes open in an instant,  
yet her mind cannot process what she sees.  
She knows the reflection is hers,  
knows the sensations are also hers,  
but what she sees...is beyond words,  
beyond dreams.

Looking over her shoulder,  
I am equally breathless at how otherworldly,  
how unbearably beautiful she looks.

Her face and hands are the only things free  
from the fog that surrounds her body,  
the emerald light of her foundation, her silken core,  
gently expanding and contracting with every breath,  
like a precious, green heartbeat wreathed in mist.

While Monika is looking for her words,  
I use mine instead.  
The Player: You've always looked beautiful, Monika,  
The Player: now you look stunning.

I am beyond overwhelmed.  
Guess it's inappropriate joke time.  
The Player: Gorgeous left her spot in the dictionary  
The Player: to go hang out with envy  
The Player: because you've just taken her spot.

Thankfully, she ignores my joke;  
she's too enthralled by what she sees,  
what she feels.

I pull my hands away as she twists  
and moves in front of the mirror, exploring  
herself, and her dress, from every angle,  
every perception and sensation.

Her hands roam over every inch of fabric  
she can reach, trying to understand the connection  
between sight and touch, between seeing and feeling.  
Eyes closed to privatize her thoughts, she runs her hand  
up each arm and feels the cloth ripple against her skin.

She shivers from the pleasure;  
I shiver in sympathy.

And the deep contrast between the sheerness of her arms  
with the firm snugness of her bodysuit hugging,  
but not constricting, her intimate places  
causes her face to erupt in various degrees of red,  
each volcanic glow disappearing into pink before  
a rekindling of sensation makes her fire glow all over again.

She does a slow sensual twirl, feeling the bottom  
of her dress swirl deliciously against her legs,  
testing the sturdy comfort of her shoes, hearing  
their polished click echo against the pavement.  
Enamored with the sensation, she twirls again,  
another turn of the waterfall of fog against her legs,  
another sharp click of her heels against the ground.

Once again facing the mirror, her eyes open and  
she moves in closer to explore the delicate net  
her hair is currently housed in. I can tell by the way  
her hands trace the ribbon that she's not entirely sure  
if she likes what I've done or not.

I move in behind her and whisper in her ear.  
My hands are delicate as they caress the net  
so as to not disturb my work.  
The Player: You know I love your hair  
The Player: long and wild, never doubt it,  
The Player: but I've only captured it briefly  
The Player: to make it hungry to be free.  
The Player: So that when I finally, ultimately,  
The Player: unlock its cage, undo its bow,  
The Player: it will run even wilder with joy.

My mouth moves directly against her right ear.  
The Player: Sometimes you fast so you can  
The Player: better enjoy the feast.

Monika's head bends slightly back  
and a low animal groan escapes her lips  
Monika: *Uuuuuuuhhhh*

She turns her head so my mouth  
presses even more against her ear,  
her breath still trying to catch up.  
Monika: Baby,  
Monika: it's beautiful,  
Monika: more than beautiful.

I almost pant my reply.  
The Player: I'm glad you love it.  
The Player: but I'm not done yet.

I muse playfully.  
The Player: Can't have you looking  
The Player: like a princess while I  
The Player: look like a bum.  
The Player: Imagine the selfies!  
Monika smiles in spite of herself.

The Player: Time for this frog  
The Player: to put on his evening clothes.  
The Player: Eyes closed Monika,  
Her eyes eagerly close.

The world snarks at my effort.

My humble outfit quickly runs away  
as a elegantly tailored suit arrives  
to rudely replace it.

The jacket and pants are beyond dark,  
as though a black hole was laid out  
like a bolt of cloth and the shape  
of both was cut directly from it.  
Equally black threads blend the seams  
to the point of vanishing.

My shoes adhere to the same dark  
palate, the soft leather seeming to  
absorb light but not reflect it.

My shirt, belt and shoelaces are  
a rich, smokey grey, light enough to  
provide contrast but dark enough to  
make them seem as brothers to  
the rest of the outfit. A bow-tie  
of rich silk neatly ties itself  
around my neck.

And, to complete the ensemble,  
the buttons on my shirt, and the  
silk bow-tie formalizing my collar,  
are dyed the same emerald green  
as Monika's dress, a shared bit  
of color binding our outfits together.

Not quite a tuxedo, but the tailoring  
helps to elevate the style to something  
similar, if not equal, to Monika's. I don't  
do tuxedos so this is my compromise.

Satisfied with my outfit,  
I return my attention back to her.  
I gently move her head so that its standing  
straight up, and I take a step to my right  
so that when she opens her eyes,  
she'll see me full in the mirror beside her.

The Player: You can open your eyes now.  
Her eyes quickly open.

I would like to say I cut as striking a figure  
as Monika, but we all know that's a lie.  
Still, the color and tailoring do have a  
positive effect because her smile is  
both joyful and a bit evil.

Monika: Tall, dark, and handsome,  
Monika: just my style.

She smiles oh so wickedly.  
Monika: Well, two out of three aint bad.

She didn't forget my joke from earlier...  
I will not go quietly.  
The Player: In the dark, it doesn't matter  
The Player: how tall you are.  
The Player: And you seem to fit me just fine.

She turns to face me.  
Monika: You fit me more than fine,  
Monika: you're perfect.

Another kiss on my nose,  
who knew Monika had a thing for noses,  
and she twirls back around.

Monika: So, now that we're all dressed up,  
Monika: what's next?

I point at the lake.  
The Player: You didn't think I would build  
The Player: a beautiful lake for no reason?  
The Player: Our dance floor awaits.

Looking at the lake, it's obvious  
she doesn't see the connection.  
Monika: I don't see a dance floor.

The Player: You will.

I extend my left elbow.  
The Player: Follow me and I'll show you.

She puts her arm through mine.  
Monika: I can't wait.


	8. Shut Up And Dance

We stroll through the gate of trees  
entwined at the root.  
My hand is drunk on the feel  
of Monika's arm hidden amid  
the green mist of her dress.

My fingers stir ripples in the fabric,  
and I can feel the tiny hairs  
stand up like grass in the wind,  
flocks of geese bumping together  
all along the walkway of her skin.

Her face flashes crimson and smiles,  
which momentarily disappear  
before another stray glance of my fingers  
makes her lights turn red all over again.

I want my attention on where I am going,  
but Monika's face keeps reacting  
in ways I can't get enough of.

I watch the movie of her expressions  
enact its beautiful drama;  
gaze lowered when the red appears,  
eyes directed at me and illuminated  
when the heat passes,  
and her own bright curiosity  
can't bear to look away any longer.

My footsteps feel alien  
and distant in my ears;  
her eyes have a way  
of demanding my senses'  
full attention.

It is more than the undeniable color,  
it is the way Monika herself  
moves and flows within them.

My eyes unchain their desire.  
My gaze attempts to devour  
the minute changes of her being.  
I long to eat her thoughts raw,  
break open the bones of her beliefs  
to get at the deep, red marrow within.

The intensity of my gaze,  
and the wicked combination of her dress,  
takes her exposed nerves  
and sands them down to the bone..

Monika's face erupts in fire  
and she deliberately looks down,  
her voice trying to convey heat.  
Monika: Stop it!

I play innocent.  
The Player: Stop what?

Her gaze is sharp and pointed  
when it returns to me.  
Monika: You know exactly what.

Her voice commands surrender,  
but her eyes plead fire and safety.  
I can never say no to those eyes.

I bind my thoughts back in their cage  
and look at her with tender apology.  
The Player: Yes, I do.

Monika's gaze accepts my surrender,  
but I can taste her regret  
when the heat returns to its forge.  
Always so much fire and  
so little time to consume.

We stroll along in silence  
like torches under glass,  
our imaginations muted  
but illuminated by our burning.

Monika's body, even arm in arm,  
moves like water against my shore,  
flowing towards and then retreating,  
the changes in her tide like  
fingerprints in the sand.

Her dress accentuates her fluid mind,  
shifting and caressing,  
as she moves and embraces  
the sensations it stirs within.

I long to chase her thoughts  
breathless through the fog;  
instead we slowly meander  
along the bright, stone path.

The solid ghosts of our feet  
haunt the air as we walk.  
Our echoes enact a choir  
of heeled, solemn sound.

Our feet seem as shouts  
in the library of the mood;  
what the fog makes hidden,  
the silence seems to make holy.

My voice in my ear sounds  
like a dragon conversing in the sky.  
I can't help but look at her.

The Player: Sorry for being quiet.  
The Player: it's just that...words seem  
The Player: so inadequate right now.

Monika smiles as she looks at me,  
her voice seeming to emerge  
spectral from the mists.

Monika: You don't have to apologize.  
Monika: I know exactly what you mean.

The understanding in her eyes  
unravels me even further;  
I am lost in the fog beside her.  
The muted light reflecting off the stone path  
feels like white thread in a labyrinth of Monika-taurs.

My thoughts feel as tenebrous  
as the landscape we are wandering in,  
it is Monika's arm that keeps me  
tethered to the space around us.

I stand before a great granite slab,  
ready to be carved,  
and have no words to inscribe there.  
They are spirited away except  
the ones describing Monika's arm  
holding onto mine as we walk.

Even as we begin to approach the lake,  
and its shifting, siren surface  
brings wet descriptions to my ears,  
all of my thoughts reside with her.

My only comfort is that although  
she is like a storm in my mind,  
obscuring everything but her presence,  
her dress is creating its own  
intimate surges within her as well.

Then again, I am as much woven  
into its sensual fabric as the fabric itself.  
Every ripple, every curve, every seam  
that feels both there and not there  
inscribes my awareness even deeper  
with a dark, velvet chisel.

Monika's fingers betray her weather  
all along the barometer of my arm:  
calm and caring between flashes of lightning,  
sensual and daring when the rain begins,  
harsh and overwhelmed when it floods.

I find my bearing in those articulate footsteps,  
knowing our agony is mutual.  
Ever so slightly I quicken our pace,  
not wanting to run but fighting the urge  
to linger, to wander.

Ever watchful, she notices the change immediately  
and fluidly moves to match me in stride,  
anticipation beating her heart drum with vigor.

Monika: So where is this dance floor  
Monika: you promised me?

I smile with wicked, apple knowledge.  
The Player: Not far.  
The Player: We're almost there.

She quickly looks around and sees nothing but park.  
The playful in her will not be denied.

Monika: I still don't see it.  
Monika: Are you sure it's not hidden away,  
Monika: inside your jacket, perhaps?

The Player: Absolutely.

Unconvinced, her hand escapes from my arm  
to go rummaging around my inner jacket pocket.  
Tickling me while she pretends to look is just a bonus.

Caught off guard, I have no choice  
but to stop and wrestle her hand free,  
holding it at bay as it fights me for control.

Monika has many ways of letting me know  
when I've pushed her too far.  
She's obviously not angry,  
but she isn't exactly thrilled  
I'm taking my time.

She wants what she wants,  
damn the consequences.

Still, nothing else is going to happen  
while I'm busy fighting her attempts  
to tickle me.

Holding onto her hand, I quickly  
step into her and bring it behind her back,  
reaching my other arm around to hold  
onto it, pulling her tight against me.

The sudden closeness brings both  
of our attentions to a screeching halt.  
Monika twists her hand trying to get it free,  
but she squirms even more at how warm  
and intimate I feel against her, my body  
molding her dress even more against her skin.

And I am aware, acutely aware,  
of how the sheer mist of the fabric  
brushes against my hands as I hold onto her,  
how her arm feels like cool, green water  
pressing against me.

I shouldn't delay, but I can't help myself.  
I release my left hand and let it float  
over to her back, landing gently  
against the fabric,

letting my fingers spread out  
and ripple their presence,  
instantly gaining her attention.

Impetuous Monika disappears in a second.  
Sensual, love-struck Monika arrives  
striding down plush emerald carpets  
suddenly set ablaze by my touch.

Her playful need to fight escapes  
as quickly as the breaths  
now leaving her body.

Still, her eyes hide their swords behind their backs  
as she stares at me, ready for either love or war.

Monika: *Grrrrrr*  
Monika: You're making me wait...  
Monika: Again!

I let my fingers linger against her back  
a few seconds longer before bringing them  
to the front and gently caressing her face,  
my voice as soothing as the lake beside us.

The Player: You do know you're sexy  
The Player: when you growl, right?  
*sigh*  
The Player: But you've made your point.  
The Player: I did promise you dancing.

I take my hand away from her face,  
Monika whimpers wonderfully when I do,  
and point at the lake.  
The Player: And here is your dance-floor.

Monika looks quickly at where I'm pointing.  
So much for the lovely whimpers;  
her gaze goes razor sharp.  
Monika: Are we back to that again?

She sighs with more than a hint of frustration.  
Monika: Am I missing something?

I chuckle briefly.  
The Player: Only the obvious.

Monika is, most definitely, not amused.

Red Alert. Red Alert. Needs Attention Stat.  
I soften my gaze and lower my voice.

The Player: I know I upset you sometimes  
The Player: with how inappropriate and funny I can be.  
The Player: That's just me being overwhelmed.

I take my hand and let it play along the edges of her face,  
sometimes straying across her cheek.

The Player: This is me being serious.  
The Player: Serious enough to make this a night  
The Player: you'll never want to forget.

I release her arm and step away from her  
towards the edge of the lake.  
And with a devilish smile, I step deliberately  
onto the lake, my feet stopping at the surface  
and going no further.

The water ripples and undulates,  
but I quickly adjust to the motion  
and stand with no difficulty.

Monika, for once, has no words.  
Her face, and its reactions: Priceless.

The Player: Remember when I said  
The Player: if you can have extraordinary,  
The Player: why not take it?  
*smile*  
The Player: This is our night  
The Player: to have extraordinary.

I extend my hand.

The Player: So come, Monika, and have  
The Player: an extraordinary dance with me.

She hesitates but a moment.  
Summoning more courage  
than I truly give her credit for,  
she deliberately steps onto the lake  
and reaches for my hand,  
holding onto it as much for conviction  
as for comfort.

Although the surface absorbs and redirects  
the pressure away from Monika as she steps  
onto its surface, she remains dry.

The realization that she isn't going to sink  
to the bottom makes her laugh with relief.  
Monika: *giggles*

I smile deeply, warmly at her.  
The Player: Did you really think I would let  
The Player: anything happen to you or that dress  
The Player: I spent so much effort on?

I stare at her intensely.  
The Player: You are both too precious to me.

A red sun rises warm over her face  
and spreads its heat like fire molasses  
throughout her body;  
she feels serious now.

We walk slowly towards the center of the lake.  
The constant undulations of the water  
beneath our feet make walking a bit of a challenge  
but, to be honest, that's half the fun.

I can hear her question as we approach.  
The Player: Yes, Monika,  
The Player: I am using the spare code  
The Player: to make this happen.

She blushes at my reading her mind so easily.

The Player: One of the perks of being a game  
The Player: is that the world really is  
The Player: what you make of it...

I smile as much to myself as for her.  
The Player: ...but, you already knew that.  
The Player: Amazing what a little perspective  
The Player: can do for you.

We finally reach the center.  
The dim-light of the moon overhead  
and the bright dusting of fog really do  
make it feel as if we are in another world.

I direct her to stand a few steps away.  
I pause to drink in the atmosphere  
as much as the gorgeous apparition  
directly opposite of me.

My heart is pounding from anxiety,  
and my throat feels drier than dust,  
but I do somehow manage  
to make words come out of my mouth.

The Player: Ready, Monika?

She glows with anticipation.  
Monika: More than ready.

I whisper to the wind.

There are no speakers but the very air  
vibrates with sound, carried through  
every drop of moisture suspended around us.

Handclaps and a deep voice singing "Doh Doh Doh"  
give our bodies a beat to get ready to,  
I clap my hands in time to the song.

Monika needs no more encouragement,  
her body starts swaying and twisting  
even before a guitar enters and starts adding  
extra bite to the beat.

I'm still shuffling in place when  
a growl seems to come from everywhere  
and explodes, letting the sharp silk  
of Bruno Mars slide right in  
to introduce his Uptown Funk.

Damn if I didn't know Monika was a dancer.  
I congratulate myself on my song choice,  
even though I feel like baby Groot grooving in his pot.  
Meanwhile she starts to break out of her box  
and make that dress work to stay on her.

"...them good girls, straight masterpiece."

I never liked dancing, was never really  
any good at it, so I'm less trying to find my rhythm  
and more trying not to look like I'm having a seizure.  
Music never translates to movement  
in my body the way it does for other people.

Thankfully, Monika doesn't have that problem at all.  
She is a beautiful, green blur of funkified motion.  
It feels less like she's dancing with me  
and more like she's dancing with her dress.  
And the way it swirls and shifts as she moves  
makes me not mind the difference one bit.

"Don't believe me, just watch."

It's beautiful the way she doesn't feel  
like she has to be my partner and can  
just dance the way the music makes her want to move.  
It's half the reason I'm embarrassing myself.  
So much of our time has been spent  
practically glued to each other,  
for obvious reasons.

And I need that closeness as much as she does,  
maybe more,  
but I also need to feed her wild and free side.  
There are enough things in her world limiting her  
and how she expresses herself;  
I can't be one of those things.

So I continue to do my lead foot, Prom shuffle  
while Monika twists and twirls in mysterious ways,  
a sensual mirage made of emeralds and mist  
dancing along the water's wet floor.

In fact, it's hard enough doing the little bit I can  
when watching her dance, since every twist  
of her hips or flash of her smile makes thinking,  
especially complicated, awkward dance thinking,  
almost impossible.

And boy does she know it.  
She deliberately floats towards me,  
eyes overflowing with evil intent,  
gyrating and squirming to the beat,  
to the point I'm practically tripping over myself,  
before twirling around and dancing away,  
deliberately shaking her butt for emphasis.

I want to be mad at her for teasing me,  
except a) the view is spectacular  
and b) I kinda expected her  
to dance me under the table anyway.

Still, Monika is throwing down the glove,  
and I have my ways of balancing the scales.

The Player: Just you wait, Monika.  
The Player: This is far from over.

The Dancing Queen, somehow, feels no danger.  
Monika: *Ummmm Hmmmmmm*

She mouths the lyrics "I'm toooo hot" at me  
before doing some extra twirls for emphasis.

"Hot Damn," watching her shake in that dress  
almost makes up for my embarrassing shuffle.  
That and being witness to her just letting go  
is totally worth the small price of admission  
my pride is paying for this.

The riotous chorus signaling the song's end  
even gets me to loosen up a bit.  
James Brown I'll never be, but I do  
screw up my courage and dance a stiff 360.  
Her laugh shows me no mercy  
as she does her own 360  
that dances mine completely out of the water.

One last growl explodes into the air  
and fades to silence, finally ending the song,  
as Monika and I struggle to catch our breath.

She's in better shape; she catches hers first.  
Monika: That was fun.

Savoring victory, she gives me  
a sarcastic, sympathetic look.

Monika: At least you tried.  
Monika: That's all that counts.

*pant pant*  
The Player: You haven't won yet.  
The Player: Ready for round 2?

Her eyes glow bright with challenge.  
She practically smirks her answer at me.  
Monika: If you think you're up for it?

Have I mentioned all the ways Monika has  
of getting me back for the times I play with her?  
It really can't be emphasized enough.  
Still, not entirely unexpected.

I stare daggers at her as I whisper to the wind.  
A heartbeat of a drum throbs in the air around us.  
Just as I hoped, her body starts surrendering  
to the rhythm long before the horn section  
howls into the room, telling the world that  
Don Henley knows "All She Wants To Do Is Dance."

Not exactly romantic but the beat has too much bite  
to make me not choose it.  
Besides, I'm awash in sweet, romantic Monika;  
time to let the tiger out.

Monika and I just shuffle in place for a bit,  
using the rhythm to play with each other.  
She thinks she's being 'kind' just mirroring  
what little I can do, but every few beats  
she throws in some extra bang to her hip shake  
or jolt to her head bounce to let me know what's what.

I smile sweetly and spring my trap:  
"Rebels been rebels since I don't know when."  
My awkward prom shuffle get a bit of an attitude  
as I tilt my head upward and close my eyes,  
doing my best to ignore her, incite her,  
instigate the fire I've been building inside her.

To throw gas on the stove, I do a slow shuffle 360,  
pausing with my back to her, and as I come full circle  
I can't wait to see what I've created.

That dress should be flame retardant because Monika is HOT.  
Heck, the lake should be gone with the steam coming off her.  
Me, Left Foot LaLoosh, doing the 360 snub on her...how dare I ignore her?

"Crazy people walking around with blood in their eyes."

To top it off, I'm grinning like a fool, and that's more attitude  
than one Dancing Queen can take.  
She practically shakes the air out of her way  
swinging her hips as she stalks the beat all across the lake,  
the horn section chasing her every step of the way.

"And all she wants to do is,  
all she wants to do is dance."

The harsh ripples get pushed elegantly, but firmly  
out of her way as her body contorts like flame meeting water,  
twisting, stretching, rising, before folding up and exploding  
like a star going supernova, all the while making sure  
she avoids looking at me, the master showing the pupil  
how the avoidance dance is done.

Of course my eyes are glued to every movement she makes.  
She barely throws a side glance over her shoulder  
as she stretches her arms above her  
and slow grinds the beat beneath her feet,  
turning it to musical dust, turning all my thoughts to ash.

"She wants to party. She wants to get down."

It's a good thing she's not looking at me,  
cause the Goofy grin on my face would only make it worse.  
Never has being ignored been so rewarding.  
Heck, I groove with a little more confidence,  
and even dare to add a step forward/step back  
to my repertoire cause I'm in such a good mood.

Monika is deep into her avoidance.  
She adds even more space between us  
as she twirls and chases her instinct to the beat,  
a fiery green meteor streaking across  
a rippling, reflected sky.

Convention demands you wish on a falling star.  
Normally, I would wish for her to come closer;  
instead, I wish for her to dance even hotter.  
Even in silence, her body eagerly responds to me.

A solo synthesizer helps turn the flame up to 11.  
A beautiful contradiction, as always,  
she fights her instinct to explode and instead slows  
down her movements to a deep, sensual burn,  
body twisting in the fire, until her limbs,  
and the light reflecting off them, leave heat traces  
as they move.

The glimmer of the fabric in the moonlight really makes her  
look like Ice & Fire incarnate, or maybe that's just my mind  
interpreting her through its own scorched prism.

Suns, stars, meteors, the metaphors float untethered  
into deep space as Monika unmakes the language  
to describe her.

She dances; I'm beyond smitten, smouldering,  
embers shuffling their small pile of ashes  
a galaxy away from the origin of its heat.

Even she can't deny her energy for long.  
Her body combusts into wild, music surrender,  
finally deciding that she's schooled me enough.

She stalks towards me like  
a 'tyger, tyger burning bright,'  
daring me to 'contain  
her fearful symmetry.'

Still some distance away, she puts down her roots  
and uses the fluidity of her arms to try and pull me  
towards her, her body's twists and grinds adding leverage  
to her already brilliant position.  
She thinks she's won.

Of course she's won, that was my plan all along.  
What better way to savor victory than to snatch it,  
at the end, from gorgeous, green eyes of triumph?

Just as the song ends, I do an impossible electric slide  
and sail across the water, stopping just inches away  
from crashing into her.

Her body, once so confidently composed,  
struggles to accept how quickly I've entered its space,  
her eyes opening wide with surprise.

I know exactly what she thought I would do,  
sheepishly shuffle my way to her imperial embrace.  
Too bad she doesn't remember I don't play fair.

My body stops directly in front of her  
as my arms wrap immediately around her  
and pull her past that last divide over to me.  
The Player: Surprise, Monika.

After everything I've done, you'd think nothing  
would faze her now. Hee hee, I'm such a stinker.  
Monika: W-what...

I grin triumphantly at her.  
The Player: No time for explaining.  
The Player: I have a challenge to win.

Easily holding her in my arms, making sure her body  
is cradled snugly against me, I simply rise into the air,  
dragging her with me whether she likes it or not.

The feel of the wind rushing past, and the  
queasy perspective of suddenly being lifted  
into the air without warning, does make those  
lovely, sensual thoughts in her eyes  
turn razor sharp.

Oh, she does not like the tables  
being turned at all.  
At.  
All.

I think if she could jump out of this unexpected ride,  
she would, just to spite me.

It's really unfortunate for her that I love  
her anger as much as her desire.  
That, and the fact I'm doing all the flying means  
her body HAS to hold onto me irregardless,  
just adds sweet revenge icing to an already awesome cake.

Still, Monika's voice seethes with indignation.  
Monika: You can fly, damnit?

I look at her.  
The Player: After everything I've done & told you,  
The Player: that is what you're surprised about?

Monika doesn't want to stop to consider  
what I've said, but she does anyway.  
Still, surrender is not in her vocabulary.

Monika: I can be whatever I want.

I pull her close and kiss her on her nose.  
Her body shivers despite herself.

The Player: Yes, you can.

Curiosity, and the feel of her body being cradled  
against mine, eventually win out.

Her arms wrap tighter as she puts her head  
against my chest as we continue to float upward,  
streaking silently through the omnipresent fog.

Monika: Where are we going?

My hands simply slide back and forth where they are.  
The Player: To finish our contest.  
The Player: Last dance of the night  
The Player: is always a slow number.  
The Player: We need better mood lighting.

The thought of a slow dance makes her body shiver  
with delight, while the realization it will be the last one  
leaves tender, melancholy notes behind.

My hands refuse to let them stay.  
I know exactly what to do to remedy that.  
The Player: I promised you wild and free, Monika.

I slide my hand up her back and feel the ripples  
in the fabric match the ripples running through her body.  
I want to stay and play with the earthquakes,  
but I have a promise to keep.

My hand continues upward until I reach  
the tender cage her hair has remained in.

And with a gentle pull, the ribbon flies away  
as Monika's hair catches a breeze and billows out  
behind her like a cape, warm strands escaping,  
flowing along the tide of air our bodies create in our wake,  
floating through the mist like a long, brown sail.

Now that the fear of falling is gone,  
and her hair is free once again,  
Monika's face erupts into warm exuberance.  
Ever bold, she stops holding onto me  
and extends her arms outward,  
her body flying against mine, with mine,  
like a gorgeous airplane.

Feeling the reaction in her body, I adjust our angle  
so that we fly horizontally instead of vertically,  
wanting to give her as much control as I can,  
wishing, as always, we had more time to explore.

The sensible part of me wants us to hurry and get  
to where I intended us to be,  
the romantic part of me wants to give in to the moment.

It's Monika: romantic always wins.  
The Player: Get ready, Monika.

She quickly looks at me.  
Monika: Get ready for what?

I whisper code into her and let my fingers  
gently release their grip on her body.  
My arms slowly pull away as my body continues  
to match Monika's speed independently from her.

She looks down at me, knowing I'm no longer holding onto her.  
She is suddenly aware that she is the one in control,  
and the only change seems to be how natural it feels.

Flying in formation inches above me,  
Monika smiles brighter than I've ever seen her,  
eyes overflowing with joy and happiness.  
She looks even more ephemeral gliding through the mist.

Without thinking, she tests the limits of her freedom,  
turning her body to the right and accelerating,  
relishing the sensation, however brief,  
of being utterly released.

I accelerate to her speed and angle upward  
so that I end up flying beside her,  
brushing my face against her still outstretched hand,  
arms relaxed and by my side.

My boyhood memory surfaces strong, why resist it?  
I slide a bit to my left and let my arms  
stretch out like an airplane as well.  
My right hand reaches out just within reach of her hand,  
and I let my fingers play safely, teasingly with hers.

This is one Superman who doesn't have to worry  
Lois will fall out of the sky.

The rush of the wind and the feel of our fingers  
playing in the breeze makes me beyond glad  
I said yes to this.  
Watching Monika's hair stream loose behind her,  
seeming to play hide and seek in the mist,  
is just the bright cherry on an already delicious sundae.

We spend moments, I want to spend hours,  
but always the pull of the clock at our threads.  
I point upwards and invite Monika to follow me.  
Without waiting, I simply continue my climb into the air,  
sailing into the deep mist like an explorer  
escaping from the shore.

I know Monika wants to linger as well,  
but her body soon appears beside me,  
her gaze full of both love and curiosity.

Monika: Where are we going?  
The Player: You'll see.

Soon enough, our bodies emerge from the mist.  
I stop my ascent and merely seem to float  
on the top layer of fog I emerged from;  
Monika quickly mimicking my actions.

At this height, without the fog,  
the moon is less a far object of inspiration  
and more like a bright, overwhelming neighbor  
standing as if they were right outside your front door,  
making you wonder how they'll ever fit through.

Still, the light radiating off it onto Monika makes it  
the perfect backdrop, one I had to see in person.

And seeing her standing there, bathed in light,  
floating on a shifting floor of fog whose teardrops  
of water constantly sparkle in refraction,  
love is too small a word to describe my feeling.

She is awe and splendor and a thousand different reasons  
waiting to give their explanations.  
My brain wants to get even worse with the metaphors,  
I fight to keep it...is grounded even a word applicable here?

Monika, ever the hawk, can't help but notice my silent staring.  
The blush starts at her face and melts like butter throughout her body.  
Her eyes are like gentle torches as she glides  
the last few feet over towards me.

Monika: About that dance...

I want to drown in her eyes but every strand of hair  
that moves and slides out of place  
demands my attention like string to a cat.  
Still, her eyes are home and I have no choice  
but to make my eventual return.

I let my right hand swim in the long rivers  
of her hair as my brain struggles to remember  
what to do next.  
Searching...Searching...file found.

I reach my left hand around her to land  
on the soft curve of her back, just above her ass,  
as my right hand ghosts through her hair  
to land firmly on her upper back, pulling her slowly  
towards me until we are inches apart.  
Monika's breaths suddenly struggle to do their job.

Words, words, where the hell are all my words?  
These will have to do.

The Player: You are an infuriatingly beautiful,  
The Player: complicated, head-strong woman.  
The Player: I had a completely different song  
The Player: planned for this moment.  
The Player: But, as I'm discovering with you,  
The Player: all of that can change in an instant.

My right hand sensually explores  
and maps the contours of her back,  
Monika's hands wrap around me  
and pull her body fully into mine,  
shaking with anticipation.

The Player: I didn't hear you  
The Player: when I first heard this song,  
The Player: but I remembered it.  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I hear you now.

Distant code remakes itself into sound.

Electric piano and a chorus of violins unmask in the air.  
Our bodies start swaying like grass in the wind  
as the sultry voice of Vanessa Williams sings about  
how "Sometimes the sun goes round the moon."

It's not cold, but Monika shivers from head to toe  
as the lyrics unwrap her heart and lay it naked on her chest.  
My body squeezes her closer as I lovingly invite it inside  
and close the door.

"Cause there was a time when all I did was wish  
you'd tell me this was love."

Both our plans couldn't plan for tonight.  
Our bodies revolve slow around an unknown spiral,  
our feet entangle in fog from an unexpected wind.

I want to breath but Monika consumes my air;  
Monika wants to speak but I eat her words.  
Standing closer than face to face,  
the song speaks more than we ever could.

But the wind that soothes is the wind that also  
thiefs its way through every crack and seam,  
not stopping until it finds naked skin  
to bed down and find comfort with.

Vanessa sings what Monika cannot:  
"All of the nights you came to me  
when some silly girl had set you free."

Monika wants to feast on the truth in my eyes  
but the intensity, and the song, only undress her to tears.  
She buries her head against my chest  
trying to delay their arrival.

Even when it's not my words directly,  
I can still find the ones to whisper in her ear  
that end up feeling almost like a shout, blowing away her defenses,  
huffing and puffing her tender house down.

"How could you give your love to someone else.."

Her hands roam and claw at my back,  
her body trying to find something solid to shield  
her from the winds she can't help but feel  
blowing around her, through her.

But I am both the calm and the storm;  
the breeze lifting her up into the air,  
and the hurricane tearing her boards down:

"Sometimes the very thing you're looking for  
is the one thing you can't see."

My hands speak what my mouth fails to.  
They survey and caress, looking for her essence,  
digging at the anchor her body aches to be.  
Hungry without mouths, thirsty without lips,  
they beg at the table of her body for sustenance,  
pulling her closer because closer is not enough.

"Isn't this world a crazy place?"

My body feels distant, revolving around this ache.  
Monika's own body spirals in beautiful sync,  
bearing the brunt of her heart's wild stampede.  
Vanessa's voice rises to acute observation:

"Sometimes the very thing you're looking for..."

Like kindling, we easily burst into fire, together,  
burning away fear until only love remains.  
Ashes, I belong to her. Ashes, she belongs to me.  
Monika's tears fall like Spring but do not flood,  
her whimpers announce themselves softer than snow.

"Sometimes the snow comes down in June."

I tug at her hair; her face unhides from me.  
My fingers stride past the waterfall of her hair  
and splash their feet against the evidence of rain  
as Vanessa sings away the last of the storm:

"Just when I thought our chance had passed..."

My eyes are open, my body is lost,  
my other hand trembles as it mournfully  
leaves her back to join the other in front.

"You go and save the best for last."

My hands gently frame the portrait of her face.  
I move my mouth to brush against hers  
as Vanessa reveals my not-so-secret secret:

"You went and saved the best for last."

My lips arrive and kiss their knock,  
letting her body succinctly decide  
to come towards me.

Our lips enact the final dance of the night,  
meeting softly in an intimate place.  
Monika's breath pushes aside my doors,  
my breath fills her warm space with ease.

Vibrating with song, Monika kisses her surrender.  
Her lips stroll with mine down a moist, silent street;  
breath walking with breath down a mist-covered path.

My mouth glides slowly along her groove;  
her lips decide to chase before they make me follow.  
Her hands hold me captive as her mouth  
does its best to enact passionate revenge.

But tender never stays tender between us for long.  
I'm really not surprised when Monika finds satisfaction  
in biting at her torment, focusing her teeth  
on leaving a sharp mark.

The Player: Owwwwwwwww.

The wolf in green mist smiles with success  
as her teeth hold firm before slowly releasing  
their overconfident prey, her lips the last messenger  
to linger before their retreat.

My plans, as always, in ruins at her feet,  
I dare to look at the face of my exasperation.  
My tongue, ever instinctual, briefly inspects my lip,  
treating the familiar with barely a shrug

Monika hungrily devours my every reaction,  
the wild still grinning somewhere behind her teeth.  
Licking her lips with obvious intent:

Monika: You should have known  
Monika: there would be a price.

The Player: Would you believe me if I said  
The Player: I didn't think that far ahead?

She leans forward and kisses her mark quickly  
before leaning back and giving me her reply.  
Monika: Maybe...maybe not.

I look directly at her.  
The Player: Just admit you like biting.

She leans forward yet again,  
stopping mere inches from my face.  
Monika: I like tasting...

She moves her mouth to my ear  
and purrs, just so I respond.  
*shiver*

Monika: ...but I love reactions.

Another gorgeous purr.  
*more shivers*

I grab onto her hair and move my mouth against her ear.  
Letting a short, deep growl escape from me, I try to even up the score.  
The Player: So do I

Surprised by my quickness, seduced by my boldness,  
Monika can't hide the shiver of her approval.  
We both stare at each other across the natural divide,  
our animals playing tag with each other's shadows.  
But our game, unfortunately, is altogether too brief  
as we climb back into the clothes of our being.

My hand slides away from her hair with regret,  
her eyes briefly admit the pain of departure,  
as I decide to be the bearer of bad tidings.

The Player: I think it's time...

I pause, not wanting to finish the thought.

The Player: ...to go home now.

Not knowing what else to do,  
I decide to give Monika one last treat.

The Player: You lead the way.

A gift is a gift; Monika accepts,  
her body briefly lit by unexpected joy.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she descends;  
body vanishing completely into the fog,  
her voice invisibly firing off a challenge  
like a starter's gun.

Monika: Catch me if you can.


	9. Into The Mystic

I pause to drink in the moon's celestial presence,  
taste the clear, crisp heights to which I have flown,  
before releasing code and letting my body freely plummet  
down through the mist, without pride as my excuse.

I fall, without fear, through the thin netting of water  
and cloud, arms outstretched and eyes closed.  
My body awkwardly slices its way towards the ground,  
yet I've never known a silence more peaceful than this.

It is more than the fall or the absoluteness of my will.  
It is a different kind of gravity that is inviting me down.  
My body is surrendering to an unconventional kind of pull;  
the wind whispers its stories as I fall through its speech.

The mist seems endless, but the ground knows I'm coming.  
Faster do I descend as if rushing to meet its embrace.  
I run without legs to a rapidly, vanishing point;  
I fly without wings to a serious destination.

Light as stone, heavy as a feather, I reach terminal speed,  
a number counting down amid the numbers floating by.  
Molecules of water leave me greetings as I fall,  
tears the sky releases in memory of my passing.

Although my eyes are closed, I can sense the ground's arrival,  
can hear the unstoppable gears of the hours as they turn.  
I am descending in awareness through the electric hourglass,  
chasing the 1's and 0's that are inevitably counting down.

Monika finally notices I'm not following her as I should.  
I can sense her confusion and the gathering of alarm  
as her heart begins to grasp the beginning of the end;  
even as I seem so close, I am inextricably falling away.

The play of the chase gives way to maximizing the moment.  
Monika soon turns her body towards rushing after mine,  
choosing to prefer closeness against the specter of apart.  
I roll onto my back, hungry for her approach.

She is a beautiful, green arrow flying true towards me,  
a waterfall of love rushing down towards its pool.  
My peace is doubled and then destroyed in her awareness.  
I am divided by light and shadow even before her arrival.

What began as ten thousands soon becomes thousands.  
I fly past the multitude towards a more absolute number.  
Soon the crowd dwindles to somewhere in the hundreds,  
Monika's wide eyes keep count as they exit.

Less than a hundred, the greeting becomes acute.  
Monika's body surges to be the last at the door.  
Surprise! My descent abruptly stops before Monika can think,  
as her body is captured against mine, as if caught in a net.  
Monika: Ooomph.  
The Player: Gotcha.

Code takes her energy and turns it into waves  
that flow around our bodies so suddenly at rest.  
My arms claim her space and refuse to allow  
any more distance to define how we breathe.

We languidly rise and float parallel to the ground  
as Monika tries to grasp the abrupt change to her flight.  
As gentle and forgiving as I tried to make it,  
a cage is a cage; Monika's animal reacts.

She moves to my neck like a lion smelling food.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrr*  
Not-so-friendly teeth make a decisive entrance.  
The Player: Ooow!

Her point sharply made, Monika can finally  
look me in the eye, her voice equally biting.

Monika: That is for making me chase you.

She bites me again.  
The Player: Ooooooowww!

Monika: And waiting til the last minute.

Pride somewhat restored, Monika stares her point  
a little deeper into my gaze.

She then puts her head on my chest  
so I can't easily hear what she says next.  
Monika: And scaring me.

My hand moves to her hair, as my words look for their flowers.  
The Player: I'm sorry for scaring you.  
The Player: I just needed you to follow  
The Player: so I could trick you into running into me.  
The Player: I was never in any danger.

Anger lets Monika pretend to ignore the hand.  
She raises her head up to stare at me,  
her eyes unwilling to let go of its question.  
They poke and prod with very sharp sticks.  
Monika: So why let me go if you wanted me close?

I hide my smirk behind a smile.  
The Player: You said to catch you if I could...  
The Player: so I did.

Monika isn't happy I evaded her question.  
Her eyes inspire me to rethink my words.  
The Player: I always want you close.

*sigh*  
The Player: But I said we needed to go home,  
The Player: and you probably thought to go back to my place.  
The Player: And however much I enjoy chasing you,  
The Player: which I do,  
The Player: you would have made me work  
The Player: extra hard to catch you.

Monika doesn't need to smile to let me know I'm right,  
but she does anyway.

The Player: And it's time I'd rather spend doing something else,  
The Player: my beautiful Roadrunner.

I use my hands to coax her head back on my chest,  
letting my fingers swim with her thoughts as easily  
as they swim in her hair's unruly waves.

The Player: The thing is, after you disappeared,  
The Player: I thought a bit more about home,  
The Player: about where I truly wanted to be,  
The Player: and the moment made me rethink my answer.

The magic of my fingers, and the ease of our flight,  
relax her reply to a soft, muffled thorn.  
Monika: So where are we going?

The Player: We're still going home,  
The Player: just not the one you were expecting.

One hand stops playing in her hair  
in order to sunbathe on the warm shore of her cheek.

The Player: There is still more game left to play,  
The Player: more secrets to be revealed,  
The Player: and our time together...  
I pause, trying to hide the sadness.  
The Player:...wouldn't be complete without  
The Player: the two of us exploring all of it.

Monika is silent but she wraps her arms tighter around me,  
trying to hold the ghost of separation at bay.

We float easy and slow over the roofs of our imagination.  
I meander just a little, trying to steal a few extra seconds,  
feel a few extra movements of her breathing against me,  
but eventually our path leads to a very familiar door.  
I take my time and spiral us slowly to the ground,  
turning our bodies vertical at the very last moment.

After so much time spent in the air,  
the ground feels like a weight I almost forgot to feel.  
Standing seems so strange after flying,  
so I spend a few extra moments readjusting  
to the concept of gravity.

That and it gives me a good reason not to let go of Monika,  
although her arms are doing a good job  
of not letting me go either.

Eventually, I open my arms to let her know its ok to leave.  
Monika gives me one last squeeze before stepping back  
and looking around to see where we've landed.

It doesn't take her long.  
Monika: We're in front of my place.  
The Player: Yep.  
Monika: I thought we were going home?

I take my time to get lost in Monika's eyes,  
my voice is languid but firm as I reply.  
The Player: This IS home, Monika.  
The Player: Our home.

However close she felt, my words bind her closer.  
Her heart starts to jog a blushing, awkward pace  
I can see so clearly as it blossoms on her face.

The Player: You see, I also have a story to tell.  
Monika: Ooooh?  
The Player: It's a horror story...  
The Player: and a love story.

Monika says nothing,  
but her eyes are overrun with feeling.

The Player: It's about a heart that's crazy in love,  
The Player: and the girl who can't help following  
The Player: wherever it leads.

There go my words doing crazy things inside her.  
Monika's face goes a deeper shade of red,  
a thick pulse of heat ghosts beneath her dress.  
She turns her head to hide her intensity.  
Monika: I think I know this story.

I move my mouth close to her ear.  
The Player: I think so too.  
My breath is like desire knocking gently on her door.  
Her heart jogs a bit faster, impatient with the game.  
The Player: I can't wait to tell my side of it,  
The Player: and neither can the heart waiting inside.

I step past Monika and put my hand on the doorknob.  
A small bit of code to invite it to unlock,  
a slow twist of my wrist, a firm push of my hand,  
and the door to Monika's place swings gently open.  
Not waiting for her, I hold my courage firm  
as I enter the unknown.

Monika's living room is spare,  
brightly lit but with few decorations,  
I can tell she doesn't spend too much time here.  
Why would she?  
The important room is down the hall.  
But I'm in no hurry to get there...yet.

I turn around and stare at Monika.  
The Player: About that heart...

Monika finally follows me inside. She closes the door after entering  
and stands to one side, watching me like a hawk.  
Despite everything we've shared, the combination of seeing me  
walk around her private space while she stands there,  
in her storm of a dress, is almost more than her levee can bear.

Emotions seethe and swirl in her eyes even across the room,  
spiking like waves whenever my hand reaches out  
to touch something as I pass:  
the back of a chair she once sat in,  
the edge of a table she's dined at,  
even the bare space of a wall she's never once considered,  
but now can't stop thinking about,  
as my hand slides past it and merges  
with its space so briefly before departing,  
leaving its impression behind  
like a memory of light.

I fill the empty spaces with my multitude of movements.

And as I wander aimless, instinctual in Monika's living room,  
occasionally glancing back to pour even more emotion over her,  
I smile warmly, evily to myself, reveling in the many,  
creative ways I have of paying Monika back as well.  
Still, however much I enjoy prolonging Monika's torment,  
there's a story waiting to be told.  
And time isn't with us.

I pace a slow circle across from Monika,  
making sure every sentence I send her becomes  
another burst of light in her mind,  
searing its verbal tattoo fierce within her memories,  
down to the core where the deepest code remains.

The Player: You see, even the girl herself doesn't understand  
The Player: why her heart does what it does.  
The Player: She just knows she woke up one day  
The Player: and it was there waiting for her,  
The Player: tearing at her mind with its awareness,  
The Player: pounding against her skin with it's uncertainty,  
The Player: drowning her in an ache even she couldn't describe:  
The Player: the realization of Him.

I stop to reflect for a moment.  
The Player: It doesn't really happen that way, of course.  
The Player: There are always little detours along the way,  
The Player: but no one ever pays attention to those.  
The Player: Everyone only ever remembers the crash,  
The Player: the seeming suddeness of it all.

I smile to myself before looking at Monika,  
at the wrenching storm I am brewing in her.  
I can sense her heart pounding all the way over here,  
can almost feel it trapped by my words raining over her.

Even wrapped in silence,  
I can imagine it howling beneath her skin,  
fighting to decide if it wants to run away  
or rush over, like a flood, and try to engulf me.

And so, like a wild animal overwhelmed  
by sudden, unexpected light,  
Monika and her heart refuse to move.

I make another slow circle with my pacing,  
caressing Monika with my words,  
tormenting her with my distance.

The Player: And what's really crazy is that her heart  
The Player: doesn't even know who its aching for.  
The Player: It barely even knows its a boy...  
I pause and smirk at Monika, staring directly at her.  
The Player: It does ache for a boy, right Monika,  
The Player: at least the heart I'm talking about?

If I'm not playing fair, neither will she.  
Her reply is whispered but rebellious, defiant.  
Monika: Mayyyybe.

The Player: Fair enough.  
The Player: Let's assume I'm right.  
The Player: That doesn't narrow it down much.  
The Player: And it only added to the massive ache  
The Player: already inside her.

I pause to look down at a chair Monika has sat in,  
run my finger slow over an edge her body has brushed by.  
Even without looking at her, I know Monika's gaze  
does not leave my hand as it moves.

The Player: But it was more than the ache that transfixed her,  
The Player: it was the questions overwhelming her,  
The Player: hollowing out her heart with its hunger to know:  
The Player: Why?

I let my hand roam over and down the back of the chair,  
letting my fingers dig into the fabric and pull upward  
as if trying to claw out some memory deep within its weave.  
Monika shivers as she hears the harsh growl  
of the fabric, in response, echo after my touch.

The Player: Some questions were easy.  
The Player: Why a game...she was tired of being alone.  
The Player: Why a dating sim...well...

I look at Monika.  
She blushes from the suggestion and decidedly looks away.  
Eventually I look away as well, out of generosity of course.  
Also, it's hard to tell my story while looking at her.

The Player: But those were the easy questions.  
The Player: What about being in high school?  
The Player: She could have set her dating sim anywhere  
The Player: and some people would still play it.

I pause and smile at her.  
The Player: Can I stop and say...  
The Player: I appreciate your heart deciding to NOT  
The Player: portray itself as a pigeon?  
The Player: Sorry, but that's one fowl line I don't cross.

Monika glows a different kind of red.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*  
The Player: Bad time for jokes, I know.  
The Player: I couldn't resist.  
The Player: Anyway...

I go back to slowly seducing my chair  
while Monika gazes daggers at me.  
The Player: But her heart was into poetry,  
The Player: so maybe the literature club  
The Player: is to blame for the setting.  
The Player: Strange theme for a game, but ok.  
The Player: Still...

I rub my hand over the edges of the chair,  
feeling the dull lines bring some definition to my touch.  
Monika's anger slowly gives way to blushing again.

The Player: Why all the horror?  
The Player: Why does her heart drag her through  
The Player: so much torment and frustration?  
The Player: Why does it make her watch from the sidelines  
The Player: as everyone, but her, gets a chance at romance?

I let go of my chair and take a step towards her.  
The Player: Why does it make her kill off her rivals,  
The Player: destroy her world, the basis for her being,  
The Player: just to get a chance to be with him?

I take another step closer.  
I can see Monika start to shake,  
her eyes wide with terror and longing.

The Player: Why does it love this unknown Player  
The Player: this badly, this deeply, this intensely?  
I take another step closer.

I can almost reach out and touch Monika.  
But I don't.

She's shivering uncontrollably,  
and her eyes are insane in their emerald captivity,  
unable to look away.

The Player: Why does her heart risk destroying the game,  
The Player: just to spend that moment with him,  
The Player: only to force him to eventually delete her,  
The Player: denying her yet again?

I take the last step and stand in front of her,  
gazing at the storm raging in her distance,  
still not touching her.

The Player: And why in the end, despite everything,  
The Player: does she still reach into her bag of gifts  
The Player: and sing him the song she's worked on in secret,  
The Player: playing the piano she practiced on in private,  
The Player: not just for him but also, ultimately, for her?

I pause to let my words burrow into her.  
The Player: Why?  
Another pause.  
The Player: Why?

I take my hand and shred the last bit of distance between us  
as I make it dive into the warm river of her hair,  
my body pressing against hers so I can move my mouth  
past her aching lips to the edge of her ear,  
whispering my last question.  
The Player: Why?

Monika is shaking so badly she can barely respond.  
Monika: I-I-I-I d-d-don't k-know.

My lips tease and dance along the tender edge of her ear,  
barely dragging their touch to her on-alert senses.  
I purr my answer into her.  
The Player: Of course you don't know.  
The Player: I haven't finished my story yet.  
The Player: But first...

Taking my other hand and moving it around her body,  
so that she can feel my touch on her back like an undeniable weight,  
I pull my mouth away from her ear and lead her down the hall.

Monika can't stop shivering as her body follows my direction,  
her heart pounding in the nails that build her house of questions.  
Our bodies float horizontally through the fog of our tension,  
blind to everything else but how the spaces moves.

Until my body shifts strangely, at some predetermined moment,  
and Monika feels her body spinning as it moves,  
her back soon meeting the hard surface of her bedroom door.

Releasing their hold briefly, my hands go foraging for her wrists.  
Anxious to thwart escape, I take hold of my prizes firmly,  
pulling them to the edges just beyond their reach,  
pinning her to her door like a butterfly on display.

Monika struggles in vain as she looks into my face,  
as the feeling of her capture banishes yet another  
undead, ravenous, envious ghost.  
I grin as the light penetrates the dark places.

The Player: Just because I never played the Natsuki route  
The Player: doesn't mean I didn't know about it.  
I smile warm and hungry at my prize.  
The Player: And now that I have your attention...  
The Player: I'm going to get something from you  
The Player: that I've wanted for awhile.

Monika's body shakes even worse than before.  
She struggles a bit to get away from my grip,  
but without too much effort.  
She's caught and she knows it.  
Her eyes are wide with fear and desire,  
and her voice is a whisper  
barely summoned enough to speak.  
Monika: What do you want?

I smile even wider;  
Monika shudders in anticipation.  
The Player: I want you...  
I pause for effect.  
The Player: to ask me a question.

Her body momentarily forgets to shake.  
Her eyes go from tender to confused in a nanosecond?  
Even her voice reveals she wasn't expecting that.  
Monika: What?

I pause and linger in her gaze.  
The Player: I want you to ask me a question.

The Player: You see, I know a deeper reason  
The Player: why all the girls want to be with me.  
The Player: They're not just constructs of your awareness,  
The Player: they're also aspects of your love for me.

I smile my tease into Monika's gaze.  
Her body shivers and squirms as much from my words  
as the closeness of my body pressing against hers.  
The Player: Sayori is the best friend, suffering in silence,  
The Player: who aches to be more than just life-long friends.

The Player: Natsuki...  
I push my body against hers and press my hands even more against the door,  
just to make Monika feel what Natsuki's route always made her wish she could feel.  
The Player: Natsuki wants someone to rescue her from her torment,  
The Player: feed her affection, love her for who she is.

The Player: And Yuri...  
The Player: tender, shy, voluptuous Yuri...

I bring my face inches from her,  
so close her eyes can barely focus  
but she can feel my breath flowing over her skin.

The Player: Yuri wants someone to cut open her skin  
The Player: and climb right inside her overwhelmed heart.  
I move my mouth directly over her ear.  
The Player: Yuri wants a lover.

Monika's body shudders as she squirms against me,  
whimpering in her throat, unable to speak.

The Player: And I adore Sayori and Natsuki and Yuri...  
The Player: especially Yuri.

I laugh rough and hungry,  
the low rumble like teeth dragging across Monika's skin  
The Player: But they are just masks someone else is wearing,  
The Player: keys to a piano someone else is playing.

I pause to let my words tresspass even deeper.  
The Player: And I'm tired of all the masks and the omniscient keys.  
The Player: I want the gorgeous, green eyes envious behind it all.  
The Player: I want anxious, terrible heart beating beneath the floor.  
The Player: So, doki doki heart...

My voice is starving, inviting,  
as I return my gaze to hers.  
The Player:...time to take off your Yuri mask  
The Player: and ask me the question  
The Player: you've always wanted to ask yourself.

I bring my lips tantalizingly close to hers,  
so that when I speak, she can't help but feel me  
eating her breath, feeding her with mine.

She closes her eyes, I close mine.  
The Player: And I'll tell you the story  
The Player: that answers your why?

Monika pauses, flush in her torment,  
I feel her lips quiver as her whimpers escape into the air,  
until her body accepts there is no place left to run;  
until she has no choice but to say what needs to be said.  
Monika: D-do...  
Her heart pauses before it takes the plunge.  
Monika: Do you want to be my l-lover?

My lips speak my answer by rushing into hers,  
breath catching breath after a long chase.  
She kisses her greeting slow, hesitant but warm.  
I kiss my greeting fierce, with a growling, hungry wind;  
eating her every whimper as they escape to my embrace.  
She plays in the weather, I taste her surrender,  
her body meeting mine somewhere in the rye.  
I moan for arrival, she moans for the reveal,  
we slowly devour the hours that couldn't keep us apart.

Food, sweet food; she is nourishment and song.  
My hands leave her wrists to climb into her hands,  
finger twinning finger into an iron clasp.  
Food, sweet food, she binds me with chains,  
tying me in whimpers and promises to keep,  
her heart a red ribbon unspooling from her lips.

I speak my breath into her, it promises forever.  
She speaks her breath into me, it promises the same.  
We sing without lyrics as only lovers do.

The music slowly ends, tender and forlorn.  
My lips seem as death, not wanting to part.  
But distance do they create, slow as a glacier.  
Monika rushes to feed and bites me her goodbye:  
a kitten full of love, a tiger full of intent.

My lip is blessedly bruised, her lips tenderly care  
and caress the hungry wound that mirrors her own,  
before letting go, reluctant and with a sigh.  
I sigh into hers so that even our sadness is mixed,  
the air as it moves away still carrying the taste of us.

I gather enough distance to go looking for her eyes.  
Monika's gaze is waiting as mine finally arrives,  
green, tremulous waves moving quietly behind glass.  
I can almost see the questions swimming underneath.  
The Player: I've waited all game for you to ask me that.  
The Player: Now that I have your confession,  
The Player: it's time I gave you mine.

My hands finally free themselves, sadly, from Monika's touch.  
they swim past her hair and leave promises on her cheek,  
as I meander my way down and grasp the door's admittance.  
Monika maintains her gaze, refusing to leave my eyes,  
even when the knob turns and her body is finally released  
back into the space it no longer wants or needs.

It is my body that, eventually, moves her to move,  
pushing her slowly backwards in our inevitable chase.  
We slow dance through the doorway, waltz into her room,  
quiet in our footsteps, too entranced to even speak.

I see the distinction in her eyes as we pass that imaginary line,  
my presence in her space no longer a theory or a dream.  
Even as I walk forward firmly in her gaze, my lungs demand memories,  
expanding every step, needing to breathe in Druidia's oh-so-precious air.

My eyes are torn between two worlds, the lush green planets  
that are Monika's eyes or the fabulous alien vista I steal in side glances.  
For even when I am tempted and dare to wander away,  
the awareness of my looking reveals movies I don't want to miss.

Monika, likewise, is tattered and torn. Her mind  
tries to reconcile familiar with the space that suddenly is.  
Everything is a flood her body can barely contain;  
her dress adding rain to a reservoir long past full.  
She is beautiful in her agony, but she's suffered enough.

I sigh as I watch her waters ebb and flow,  
always wanting to swim but needing the rain to stop.  
Only knowing that we are somewhere in her room,  
I stop moving so her body knows to stop.

I pause to savor her torment, the dark before the dawn.  
The Player: Time to finally get you  
The Player: out of that gorgeous dress.  
Monika only whimpers, waiting for the inevitable.

Wanting to be gentle, but still needing to feed,  
my hands escape to her hips and rest on her curve  
before beginning their rise up the side of her dress,  
dining on her shivers like a slow-cooked meal.  
I continue my climb until I summit at her shoulders.

Captured by my touch, Monika can only stand  
and give herself to me in seismic, sensual waves,  
her muscles a twitching sea roughly meeting the shore,  
her throat a spiral shell trying to hide away her sound.

Walking through the mist, my fingers crawl along her shoulders  
untill they reach the circle where the dress meets her neck.  
I dare to take her pulse; Monika's body gives me a stampede.  
My words only add incentive to her horse's breathless gallop.

The Player: What good is a dress if you can't take it off?  
The Player: Just because it's special doesn't have to mean  
The Player: it can't also be just a tad bit practical.

With tender knowing, my fingers pull at a particular seam,  
and the mist abruptly parts, daring to unmask  
petal soft skin glowing underneath.  
I coax the fabric slowly to open itself more,  
and it reveals her shoulder's terrain utterly to me,  
until her dress is at the beginning of its very undoing.

I smile warm and wicked in my knowledge.  
The Player: Single, magnetic threads woven in the fabric.  
The Player: Similar to cloth, but with an undeniable bond.  
The Player: A seamless attraction, and perfectly hidden,  
The Player: unless you know exactly where to look.

Her shoulders exposed, her body at it's undoing,  
Monika's eyes drop their velvet, green curtains.  
Her heart surges forward, crazy in its confusion.  
Do I mean to make good on her seduced and spoken question;  
do I dare to cross the distance I promised not to cross?  
Alas, poor Monika, I am a gentleman to the end.

Still, I let what is uncertain hang briefly in the air.  
The Player: You will find a comfortable set of PJ's  
The Player: waiting in your bathroom.  
Lost in translation, Monika can barely register the change.  
Monika: Huh?

My right hand rises upward to swim in her hair,  
my other hand travels until it rests on her cheek.  
The Player: PJ's in the bathroom. I hope you like the style.  
The Player: You've suffered enough to be with me;  
The Player: now its time to rest.

Raw and uncertain, Monika feels relief.  
But rejection is not far,  
quietly pouting beneath her surface.

I lower my breath to a lover's private volume,  
as my thumb chases her cheek in slow, racetrack ovals.  
The Player: We're still in public, Monika;  
The Player: we still have an audience.  
The Player: And I'm still not wanting  
The Player: to share that with them.

I let my words spiral down to the center of her feels.  
The Player: And however much you love me,  
The Player: I'll bet that isn't something  
The Player: you want to share in public either.

I smile my knowledge into her gaze.  
The Player: If you wanted me  
The Player: to have you in public,  
The Player: your heart would have picked  
The Player: an entirely different game.

I chuckle to myself.  
The Player: Not like we don't know about those,  
The Player: do we Monika?

Monika closes her eyes and turns her head  
as a wild, red fire races past her face.  
She even bites her lip for emphasis.  
What train was I on again?  
Oh.

The Player: I thought so.  
The Player: So this isn't that sort of game.  
The Player: But damn if you weren't making me suffer  
The Player: through all of your horror, and I wasn't going  
The Player: to get some satisfaction from you in return.

I move my hand beneath her chin and gently raise it up;  
I wait for Monika's gaze to come back to me.  
Her eyes make their return with boxes full of love,  
and knives hidden everywhere, ready for revenge.  
Monika: *Grrrrr*

I can't help but smile so I don't bother to hide it.  
The Player: I almost said don't growl at me.  
The Player: But I love it when you do.  
The Player: So please, growl all you want.  
The Player: Still doesn't change the fact  
The Player: you put everyone, including me, through hell.

I move my face very close to hers.  
The Player: And after you go put on your pj's,  
The Player: I promise to tell you why.

I steal a kiss right off Monika's lips so fast  
even she doesn't have time to respond.  
It takes a second for her to remember to growl.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrr*  
The Player: That's my girl.

Sadness sings a song as I move my face away,  
my hands untangling from hair, withdrawing from her chin.  
Free from my touch, Monika forgets to hide the pain  
before she turns around and storms off to the bathroom.  
I gaze at the magnificent mist of her dress as she leaves,  
watching it disappear behind a slamming door.

Nothing is what it seems or where you want it to be.  
Long past time to meet the ghost in the machine.


	10. Delicate

Momentarily released from Monika's presence,  
I take the opportunity to look around her room.

A single, full size bed sits flush against one wall,  
not far from the only window in the room.  
Emerald green curtains help to hinder the outside world,  
but they're sheer enough that some light must inevitably  
shine through as soon as the sun rises.

Does Monika enjoy the sun waking her up in the morning?  
Does she imagine it belonging to the face  
she hopes is looking in at her?

I can't help but think about the first poem she wrote:  
"It wasn't too bright.  
It was too deep."  
Being in her room, my own thoughts start to spiral  
towards their own hole of infinite choices as well.

But however much I want to follow them down,  
my own film is being melted away by a different sort of sun.  
With great reluctance, I continue my tour.

A simple, off-white writing desk sits opposite the bed,  
chair pushed firmly into its prepared space.  
A small disaster of items obscures my view.  
I stroll over to take a better look.

Unlike the rest of the room, which appears,  
at first glance, to be tidy and contained,  
her desk's surface is a cat's scramble  
of pens, various sized notebooks,  
and papers haphazardly strewn about,  
all covering up a laptop that's barely visible  
beneath the clutter.

Poems, in various stages of completion,  
occupy the many white spaces scattered before me.  
Though curiosity begs me to investigate  
her poems as well as her laptop,  
a writer's respect for another's private craft,  
and a solemn respect for her privacy in general,  
keeps me from doing so.

Still, I smile at the disarray, knowing how discreet  
and hidden it is from the rest of the world.  
Monika, despite everything, probably never expected  
anyone to venture this deep into her intimate spaces  
and see the unguarded aspects of her life.  
It's comforting to know at least some part of her  
doesn't feel like it has to be perfect,  
that it can just be the mess it needs to be.

True, she did show some of her chaos and disorder  
in game, but that was somewhat unintentional,  
a consequence of her frustration and longing.  
But seeing the unrestricted clutter on her desk,  
like an oasis of disarray in a room full of control,  
fills me with a warmth that I don't want to explain,  
just feel.

It makes me think of Sayori, Yuri, & Natsuki,  
and the many secrets they also tried hiding.  
Knowing Monika the way I do, I can see their genesis  
swimming around unseen in that stormy, unnatural sea  
of paper, silicon and plastic laid out below me.  
I want to cliff dive into those waves  
and discover what worlds await my entry.

Reluctantly,  
I herd my thoughts back into their pen.

However enthralled I am to the mystery  
of her private, unshared spaces,  
I am tied to the mast of a ship called time;  
Monika's siren thoughts singing to me as I sail.

Sad as Odysseus, I too must continue,  
for my feet have many miles yet to travel,  
and my ears are acute to the sound of Monika  
putting on the last remnants of her sleep.

No time to dawdle, I hurry my gaze  
over the little remaining space left unremarked.  
A bookcase besides the desk looks like it's mostly filled  
with anime and volumes of poetry.  
A small closet and dresser on the adjacent wall  
stand watchful guard over her clothes,  
the contents of which I definitely do my best to ignore.

However much I adore Monika in her uniform,  
the desire to see her in something else is partly the inspiration  
behind my designing her dress and pjs to begin with.  
So her closet is one door I dare not open,  
lest I fall into its invitation and be  
irrevocably lost.

The sound of Monika struggling to open the door  
means I've finished my tour almost on cue.  
And it also means I have just enough time  
to create one last surprise.

A quick summoning of distant code leads  
to two mannequins, one male, one female,  
appearing on opposite sides of her bed,  
right against the wall.

Being romantic, and a bit egotistical,  
I put the male mannequin in the corner, next to the window,  
so that every day she wakes up here,  
it will be one of the first things she sees.  
Even-though I can't stay here,  
I want her to always be reminded  
I am with her, no matter what.

With the mannequins in place,  
I transfer more code and feel my suit melt away.  
I watch it reappear on its male counterpart,  
clean and wrinkle free, as if it had just come back  
from the dry cleaners.

Now, instead of my suit, a soft, tri-blend t-shirt, dark grey,  
and a pair of semi-thick, cotton jogging pants, black,  
cover me in something more comfortable and appropriate  
for cuddling and storytelling.

Monika finally opens the door, looking down,  
still doing her best to cradle her dress without damaging it.  
She's so distracted by her effort, among other things,  
that she starts to speak even before she looks up.  
Monika: Do you have any idea how...

Looking up and seeing me in something entirely different  
was definitely something she wasn't expecting,  
Her gaze is romantic and more than a bit puzzled,  
and I can tell my change of clothes is only partly to blame  
for why she stopped mid-sentence.

Because I don't need her code anymore to change the game,  
she no longer knows when it happens.  
The plus side is that she is no longer subjected  
to that harsh tickle along her skin when I do.  
The downside is that now, when it happens,  
it ends up being a complete surprise to her.  
And even-though she likes to complain  
about me taking over her code, some part of her  
definitely misses feeling that primal connection with me.

That's why a brief ghost of sadness flits quickly across her gaze  
before disappearing behind a wall of fire.  
A bit overwhelmed by the rush of emotions,  
she pointedly looks away, biting on her lip,  
while trying to ignore my presence, which is  
suddenly filling her mind with very unexpected thoughts.  
I'm sure the grin on my face isn't helping either.

The Player: Do I have any idea of what exactly, Monika?  
The Player: Hmmmmm?

Even turned away, I can see the red on her face  
is having a hard time making its exit.  
She is definitely more flustered  
than even she expected to be.

Then again;  
I was a bit devious with her pajamas.

For her top, I went with a slightly oversized,  
cotton sleep-shirt dyed a hazy metallic grey with black edging.  
I also left her a pair of oh-so-soft, cotton sleep shorts  
dyed a shade warmer than a herd of baby pink elephants  
traipsing through a dream jungle.

But the final surprise waiting for her was a perfectly sized set  
of emerald green lingerie made from the same mist fabric  
accentuating her dress.

The grey and black made sense for her top  
since it mimics my outfit, somewhat,  
as well as being a nice contrast to her blushing pink shorts.  
In addition, I really wanted to see her in something  
other than green, just for the sake of variety.  
Besides, the 'important' parts of her are still being clothed  
in her favorite color, so she feels the green where it counts.

From a distance, the outfit look very comfortable,  
and I look forward to feeling it on her as we cuddle later.  
The teasing that will happen as well goes without saying...sorta.

Still, the sensuality underneath it all can't be denied.  
So, even before she opened up the door,  
I had a delicious suspicion Monika was struggling  
with more than just the delicate nature of her dress.  
My feasting on her ensemble, and her instant blush,  
are more than enough confirmation I was right, as usual.

I love her no matter what, but in those pjs...  
It seems the grin on my face has taken up permanent residence.  
She sneaks a glance my way, sees my grin is still there,  
and that makes her turn her head and close her eyes even harder  
as her face goes an even deeper shade of red.  
I'm smart enough to see the Yuri in her,  
and even smarter to not mention it.

But Monika wouldn't be Monika without some bite.  
I can even hear a little bit of Natsuki underneath the scolding.  
Monika: Do you have ANY idea  
Monika: how INFURIATING you are!?

Her anger finally allows her to look at me  
without feeling utterly vulnerable,  
although I can easily see how paper thin  
a shield it actually is.

And even though she is just as beautiful to me  
when she is angry; right now,  
it's the white flag of her limit.

I turn down my gaze's heat and lower my voice as well.  
The Player: Yes, I do,  
The Player: But you see...

I pause to let even more heat dissipate, or try to;  
she isn't buying it.  
The Player: I have this terrible disease.

Her gaze turns tender and a tad bit quizzical,  
just in case I might be serious.

The Player: I'm addicted to making you feel,  
The Player: and I don't care which emotion I get,  
The Player: so long as it's intense,  
The Player: and it makes you think of me  
The Player: as much as I think of you.

Snookered by my sincerity, captured by my creativity,  
Monika closes her eyes to hide even more blush from me  
and turns her head away before shaking it,  
a faint shadow of a smile haunting the edges of her mouth.

An interesting thought suddenly enters my mind.  
The Player: Wasn't I just as infuriating in game as well?  
The Player: Hmmmmm?  
The Player: Seems you like me that way to begin with.  
She keeps her head turned, refusing to look at me.

I pause to let the tease sink in.  
The Player: Not as much fun when you aren't in control?

Monika, using her anger to gain some control back,  
stares daggers at me; soft, fuzzy daggers,  
but daggers nonetheless.  
Monika: No!

The smile semi-ruins the point,  
especially when she starts blushing even harder.  
Monika: A little...

My own smile commiserates with her.  
The Player: Don't I know the feeling?  
The Player: You're wonderfully infuriating as well.

The blush on her face refuses to leave.  
She decides to risk being mean.  
Monika: I didn't say wonderfully.

Having said it, Monika's face immediately reveals  
her wish to take it back, embarrassed by  
the unexpected anger within.

My wide smile gives her anger the permission it needs.  
The Player: I added the wonderfully for you  
The Player: since I know you wouldn't say it,  
The Player: at least in your semi-tsundere mode.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: You're almost a secret tsundere:  
The Player: loving and adoring on the outside,  
The Player: oh-so-wonderfully angry on the inside  
The Player: hiding yet another, deeper layer  
The Player: of anger and love beneath.

Tiger Monika does not like the spotlight.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrrr*  
Monika: I'm not a tsundere.

Ignoring her, *hee hee*, I take a few steps closer.  
The Player: I love your anger, Monika, almost as much  
The Player: as the rest of your emotions.  
The Player: Your fury at being deleted near the end,  
The Player: even though it was what you wanted...

I pause to remember the moment.  
The Player: ...so delicious.

My smile turns her blush up to 11.  
Tyger Tyger, blushing bright.  
Monika: Stop It!

Into the tiger's den I step, right in front of her.  
The Player: You know I can't.  
I pause, letting my thoughts meander, just a bit.  
The Player: Your rage and fury, your anger,  
The Player: are a part of who you are.  
The Player: And that means its a part of you  
The Player: I love as well.

I reach up and caress her cheek;  
her eyes grip their daggers tighter.  
The Player: We aren't always going to be nice  
The Player: and loving to each other.  
The Player: We're going to fight  
The Player: and say mean things to each other.  
The Player: And it's ok.

I pause again to get a bit lost in her eyes.  
Her eyes pause to wander with me.  
The Player: It's ok to be angry and frustrated;  
The Player: it's what you feel at the moment.  
The Player: It doesn't change the love we have towards each other.

It's the mention of love that cracks Monika's angry egg wide open,  
letting me see the tender, green yolk of love floating in her eyes.

I smile so evilly.  
The Player: And for a tsundere, even a secret one,  
The Player: or especially for a secret one,  
The Player: anger is the sun that keeps its  
The Player: adjacent planet of love oh so nice and warm.

Those green yolks turn into baby dragons breathing fire.  
Bring out the marshmallows.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrr*  
Monika: I'm NOT a tsundere!

Flame retardant, I keep going.  
The Player: Protests aside, this is us being naked  
The Player: and honest and loving with each other,  
The Player: just not the fun kind.  
*chuckle*

My smirk and slight chuckle only manage  
to deflect some of her anger.  
Her mouth crinkles into a tender smile,  
like a shark trying to be polite to its prey,  
but the blush will not leave.

I wonder why?

The Player: And since I want the fun kind as well...

More Monika blushing;  
a red sun shines bright over grey and pink pajamas.

The Player: I'll take the not-so-fun kind that comes with it.  
The Player: Because, it's still fun, just...  
Monika: Just what?  
Another slight chuckle.  
The Player: Just a different kind of fun.

I rub my thumb gently over her cheek,  
lowering my voice to that of a caress.  
The Player: Then again, I bet you are soooo intense  
The Player: when you are angry.  
I purr, and watch her body primal unfurl its shudders.  
The Player: I'm so looking forward to our make-up sessions.

With the dress still cradled in her arms, handcuffing her,  
Monika's body doesn't know what to do with her emotions.  
She's trying to be careful and not damage it,  
but I can see her arms shaking as her body struggles  
to contain everything I'm stirring inside her.

It's one thing to love her for who she is and say it aloud.  
It's another thing to say it to her in her secret space,  
a place she never really thought about sharing with another,  
while she's wearing something decadently comfortable,  
on top of being teased in the process.

Intense doesn't begin to describe it.  
Monika Primal is starting to resent her cage.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRR!*

Her deep growl helps to get me back on track.  
The Player: There I go again,  
The Player: getting intense with you when I shouldn't,  
The Player: when there's still so much left to do.

Having created a problem, I struggle to figure out how to solve it.  
I decide I can't take it all back, but I can make a small concession.  
The Player: Here, let me help you with that dress.

A quick, but gentle, invocation of code makes the dress  
dissolve out of her arms and reappear,  
perfectly placed and dry-cleaned,  
on its respective mannequin.

I even place a wig, similar to Monika's hairstyle, on top  
just so I can tie it up in a silver ribbon netting  
exactly like the one I made for her.  
Now, both of our outfits can stand loving sentry  
on either side of her bed, guarding her sleep  
with their unexpected memories.

Unfortunately, Monika is in no mood  
to pay attention to them right now.  
Teased, tormented, frustrated, overwhelmed,  
it's not surprising she lunges at me,  
hands trying to grab onto my hair.

I do manage to grab onto her wrists  
and wrestle her body against the wall,  
but I'm not sure if I'm making the situation  
better or worse.

My instinct says: make it worse.  
Not giving her the chance to react,  
I reach over and bite hard into her neck.  
The Player: *CHOMP*  
The Player: *GRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

Monika was definitely not expecting that.  
She briefly struggles against me even harder  
before my intensity, my needing to bite her,  
somehow begins to calm her down.

She stops squirming, at least to get away from me,  
and starts whimpering instead.  
Monika: UUhhhhhhh.

I release the pressure from my bite and use my mouth  
to kiss and lick the mark I've left on her,  
my tongue riding the undulations of her tremors  
like a surfer following the tide rolling in.

So close to her ear,  
I can practically whisper  
what I want to say to her,  
so I do.  
The Player: I'm not sorry, at all, for teasing you.

I kiss her mark again.  
The Player: I'm not sorry, at all, for tormenting you.

I kiss a bit farther up her neck.  
The Player: I'm not sorry, at all, for frustrating you.

I kiss just below her ear.  
The Player: I'm not sorry, at all, for overwhelming you.

I kiss her ear and lower my voice even more.  
The Player: Because I'm not sorry, in the least,  
The Player: for how much I love you.  
Monika: *whimper*

I pull away from her ear and bring my face in front of hers,  
deep brown gazing into emerald green.  
The Player: And you aren't sorry either for doing the same,  
The Player: now or in the future, are you?  
Monika's voice is barely above a whisper.  
Monika: _No_...

I smile warmly at her.  
The Player: Good.

I risk releasing her right hand, my left,  
and bring it directly to her hair,  
letting it swim in her strands as it pleases.

Her hand reaches over and holds onto my arm.  
The Player: So neither of us are sorry  
The Player: for feeling the way we feel  
The Player: and doing what we do.

I pause to give her time to breathe.  
The Player: This is who we are.

I pause again.  
The Player: This is how we love.  
A slight pause for reflection and courage.

I release her other wrist but entwine my fingers with hers,  
keeping it together but away from the rest of her.  
The Player: And intense has its drawbacks.

I bring my free thumb up to her lips;  
Monika looks at me very intently.  
The Player: It's a price I'm willing to pay.

My thumb dares to trespass inside the lion's mouth.  
Payback within reach, she doesn't hesitate.  
She opens her mouth like a viper and strikes,  
teeth clamping down on her prey before I have time  
to think about regretting my choice, which I don't.

Still, not going to lie; it hurts like hell.  
The Player: OWWWW!

Maybe it's my reaction, maybe it's all the teasing I've done.  
In either case, Monika is extra enthusiastic in her bite,  
using her teeth to express what her words can't  
at the moment. But they are more than eloquent.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrrrr*

Wow, I don't remember my other thumb  
hurting this bad when she bit it.  
But maybe that's the pain talking,  
or maybe it's Monika not holding back this time?  
Either way, at least I'll have a matching set now.  
The Player: Ooooooowwwwwwwww.

This IS inappropriate joke time, at least in private.  
I'm smart enough to not say it out loud.

Hungry for her revenge, Monika holds on  
a few seconds longer before finally being satisfied  
and letting my thumb go, although she does reach over  
and grab onto my hand, holding it firm,  
while she kisses and ministers to a very tender prey.

Her gaze, when she finally looks at me, is direct,  
but I can still see some remnant of guilt floating in the weeds,  
unsure if she will somehow be rejected for giving in to her instincts,  
despite what I said.

Letting my other hand escape from hers,  
I bring it to her face and stroke her cheek.  
The Player: What did I say about not being sorry?

Monika, still holding onto my hand,  
pauses her kisses and thinks for a second.  
Monika: That neither of us are sorry...

She doesn't continue.  
The Player: Aaaaand?  
Monika: For feeling the way we feel...

Again, she stops.  
The Player: Aaaaand?  
Her gaze sharpens, just a tad.  
It's like drawing out fangs with her.  
Monika: ...Doing what we do.

The Player: Exactly.  
The Player: And I meant it.

I chuckle a bit, my thumb throbbing in her hand.  
The Player: What, did you think I'd be surprised  
The Player: at you being cruel towards me?  
The Player: Baby, you were mean towards your friends,  
The Player: and they were just your friends.

The vague mention of her past makes her close her eyes tightly,  
trying to forget everything she did, and failing.  
I smile deep and warm, even if she can't see it.

The Player: Why would you think you wouldn't be  
The Player: just as cruel, or worse, to me?

Monika flinches everytime I use the word cruel.  
I pause to reconsider my word choice.

The Player: Ok, maybe cruel isn't the best word.  
The Player: How about negatively intense?

Her eyes open and stare directly into me,  
intently dissecting the meaning of my words.

The Player: Strong, deep feelings  
The Player: have strong, deep reactions.  
The Player: That wasn't just how you felt  
The Player: about wanting to be with me.  
The Player: That's how you felt, were going to feel,  
The Player: if/when you were with me.

I can't help but smile so wide at her.  
The Player: Again, your fury when you felt me delete you...  
The Player: so very delicious.

Monika blushes and lowers her eyes, briefly,  
but she can't stay away very long,  
either from my gaze or my words.  
Monika: Even though I knew it was coming,  
Monika: I was still so angry and hurt when you did it.

I laugh openly.  
The Player: No kidding, baby.  
The Player: You couldn't hide it anymore,  
The Player: the final disappointment at being rejected,  
The Player: yet again.  
The Player: So yeah, I knew from that moment,  
The Player: among others, how angry you could get at me  
The Player: if you could just get past your fear.  
The Player: I saw it, I loved it,  
The Player: and I continue to love it.

I bring my not-throbbing thumb hand to her cheek  
and run my thumb in circles around it.  
The Player: I meant what I said about loving all of you.  
The Player: Besides, these are special circumstances.

Her eyebrows furrow with confusion  
like drunk, sophisticated caterpillars.  
Monika: What do you mean?

I can't help but chuckle,  
overcome by my awareness of the obvious.  
The Player: We aren't exactly in our normal habitat, Monika.  
The Player: We aren't just in different states of being,  
The Player: we're in different states of being in public,  
The Player: and ONLY in public.  
The Player: That affects how we are towards each other  
The Player: in ways most people wouldn't even think about.

She looks away and stops to consider what I just said.  
Monika: I never thought about it that way.

My voice gets tender and soft.  
The Player: Baby, being alone for so long, I'm not surprised  
The Player: you went from one extreme to the other.  
The Player: I'm sure it's what most people would do.  
The Player: And I don't blame you one bit for it;  
The Player: public is what brought you to me.

Monika's eyes return to mine bubbling with tears.  
I let my thumb caress its way to the edge of her face,  
trying to use my touch to release some of the pressure.

The Player: That being said, it's no surprise  
The Player: it would have a massive effect  
The Player: on the way you'd behave towards me.  
The Player: Not being able to have real, private,  
The Player: especially intimate, alone time with me,  
The Player: that's another pile of stress on top of  
The Player: everything else you are dealing with.

I pause to let the logic sink in,  
doing my best to not make her cry.  
Slowly, her water level begins to drop.

Disaster averted, I can continue.  
The Player: So yeah, no surprise you are a bit...  
The Player: extreme...towards me...  
The Player: especially here.  
I briefly look around the room before looking back at her.  
The Player: If you are the heart of the game,  
The Player: then this place is the heart of you.  
The Player: Double the heart, double the intensity,  
The Player: and we are intense to begin with.  
Monika: Yes we are.

I smirk, trying, and failing, to hold back a chuckle.  
Monika also fights her instinct to respond, and fails,  
but she's still too full of emotion to risk  
giving me more than a smirk as well.

The Player: On top of all that,  
The Player: I haven't been all that soothing to you...yet.  
Her reply is not only wistful but hopeful as well.  
Monika: Yet.  
The Player: And it's about time I started working on that.

Gently escaping my sore hand from hers, I slide it behind her back.  
I quickly bend down and put my other hand underneath her legs  
and lift her into the air before she has time to react with anything  
other than surprise.  
Monika: BABY!  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: You're giggling. That's a good start.

Commenting on her giggles makes Monika's blush  
return with a vengeance, although she does her best  
to hide it by burying her face against my neck.  
Her arms finally decide to wrap around me,  
allowing her to snuggle so adorably close.

Monika: *Puuuuuuurrrrrr*

With Monika cradled in my arms, listening to her purr,  
I stand there for a few seconds and refuse to move,  
trying to savor this moment, this gift I've been given.

Eventually, I walk over to the bed, bend over,  
and try lowering her body into it.  
Her comfort disturbed, Monika isn't happy.  
Monika: *mumble mumble*  
Monika: *grrowl*  
Her arms refuse to let go of me.

I rub my cheek against her hair,  
not wanting to move my hands.  
The Player: It's ok, baby.  
The Player: I'll be right behind you.

I bend at the knees to take the pressure off my back  
and give Monika more time to decide when to let go.

Finally realizing the bed is a more comfortable place to cuddle,  
she stops holding on, letting her body slither away  
as she moves to make room for me.

True to my word, I follow right behind,  
my body chasing both her and the place  
it feels most comfortable at the same time.  
Soon enough, my head is resting on a pillow.  
I turn onto my back and wait for her.

Monika immediately slides back over and lays her body  
sideways against mine, leg soon resting over my leg,  
one arm draped over my body, head tilted sideways on my chest.

My not-sore thumb hand immediately runs off to play in her hair,  
as my sore-thumb hand goes strolling down her arm,  
playing with the geese it suddenly finds there.  
The Player: Aren't we more comfortable now?

Monika's voice sounds dreamy and far away.  
Monika: Yes.

I use my arm to pull her head slightly towards me  
as I sneak a brief scent of her hair,  
still smells like strawberries and sunsets,  
before gently kissing it and releasing it back  
into its natural, relaxed state.  
Monika gently squeezes me in response.  
Monika: *muffled purrr*

Finally snuggled and entwined on her bed,  
my own body begins to relax a tension  
it didn't know it was holding onto.  
It won't stay gone for long, though.

My voice sounds dreamy and slurred to my ears  
as I begin to add another piece to my side  
of Monika's biggest puzzle.

The Player: A few years after high school,  
The Player: I ended up moving back in  
The Player: with my parents, or my dad at least.  
The Player: They divorced while I was in high school,  
The Player: and I wasn't keen on moving in with my mom.

With her body relaxed and snuggled against me,  
her voice floats her question casually into the air.  
Monika: Why not?

*sigh*  
The Player: Long story...well, maybe a short story...  
The Player: but I don't want to talk about it right now.

Not wanting to talk about something,  
especially something personal,  
raises alarm bells in Monika her body can't hide.  
Knowing the real me unfortunately means  
my body continues talking to her, even when I stop.  
Her reply is short but full of tension.  
Monika: Ok.

Not wanting to disturb the mood, I try to use  
my hand in her hair to gently steer her thoughts  
away from the mystery and back to the story.  
Thankfully, she follows my lead and doesn't press.  
I continue.

The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: I was in my old bedroom when I had  
The Player: this really strange dream.

Despite being extra quiet,  
I can tell she's listening intently.  
The Player: I dreamt I stepped out of my apartment  
The Player: and started walking down the street  
The Player: because I thought I heard something.  
The Player: At first, I thought it was music,  
The Player: like a band playing live or maybe rehearsing.  
The Player: But, as I kept walking,  
The Player: it sounded more like it was just drums.  
The Player: And it wasn't a soothing or easy rhythm;  
The Player: it was a pounding, relentless beat.

That fine thread of tension reappears but for a different reason.  
Monika's arm shakes as my thumb caresses it.

The Player: And it was coming from a two-story house  
The Player: just down the street from me.  
The Player: In fact, the closer I got,  
The Player: the more I could tell it was coming  
The Player: from one of the upstairs rooms.  
The Player: Dream logic being what it is,  
The Player: I knew what it meant:  
The Player: somebody lived there.

I pause to collect my thoughts as my thumb  
tries to soothe away the growing tension in her arm.  
The Player: I vaguely remember what the house looked like:  
The Player: all white, symmetrical, columns in the front.  
The Player: But this I remember with such clarity:  
The Player: purple shutters on the downstairs windows.

I can hear her breathing become shallow, labored,  
as if it were suddenly struggling with a task, a weight  
it didn't expect to bear.  
The tension in her arm refuses to leave.

The Player: Even in the dream, I thought  
The Player: the purple shutters seemed strange,  
The Player: but I was mostly driven by those drums.  
The Player: I HAD to find out where the sound was coming from.

Reliving the dream, my body remembers the urgency I felt then,  
adding my tension to a room overflowing with it.  
The only way out is through;  
I continue.

The Player: I know I entered the house and started up the stairs,  
The Player: but that's all the detail about the inside I know.  
The Player: I could tell I was getting closer  
The Player: because the drums were getting louder.  
The Player: Soon enough, I was standing just outside a door,  
The Player: only a few feet away from where I knew  
The Player: the sound was coming from.  
*pause*  
The Player: That's when the drums suddenly stopped.

Silence speaks a thousand words.  
The Player: And in that moment, I realized...  
The Player: whoever was behind that door  
The Player: suddenly knew I was there.

Monika is quiet, but her hand is gripping the sheet as tight as she can.  
My own hand shakes as I run my thumb across her arm.  
The Player: Just as quickly, as it is with dream logic,  
The Player: I also knew who it was...  
The Player: Emily Dickinson.  
The Player: The dream and real world collided then.  
The Player: My mind couldn't take the intensity,  
The Player: the insanity of thinking it was her.  
The Player: I flew back down the stairs  
The Player: and woke up soon afterwards.

The tension is too much for her.  
She raises her head to look at me,  
struggling to speak, needing to see.  
Monika: Baby...I...

I spend a few seconds swimming in her gaze,  
trying to use my hand to quiet her animals.  
Not knowing what else to say, she says nothing,  
slowly lowering her head back down to my chest.  
My fingers take their time exploring her strands,  
climbing down to her scalp to gently dig there.  
With both of us calm, for now, I know I can continue.

The Player: I remember waking up and thinking  
The Player: just how strange a dream it was,  
The Player: and how weird it felt to be awake.  
The Player: The next day, I actually had to walk down the street  
The Player: and see the spot where the house was,  
The Player: just to prove to myself it was a dream.  
The Player: It felt...

My mind is having trouble putting thoughts together.  
The Player: strange...real...strangely real...  
The Player: I don't know precisely how to describe it.  
The Player: All I knew was that it was one dream  
The Player: I was never going to forget.

I chuckle to myself.  
Monika: What's so funny?  
The Player: I knew, or thought I did, at the time  
The Player: why I was never going to forget it:  
The Player: that dream was near the start  
The Player: of my Emily Dickinson obsession.

I wander a bit down fractured memory lane.  
The Player: It's one of the reasons why I panicked,  
The Player: in the dream, and basically scared myself awake.  
The Player: I knew, deep down, I was beginning to get lost.  
The Player: And I was definitely scared of where that could lead.  
The Player: You see...

I pause, knowing if I wait...  
Monika soon turns her head to look at me.  
Monika: See what, baby?

"How can I forget you girl..."  
The Player: Emily wasn't my first obsession...  
The Player: someone else was.

I savor the moment as I gently stroke her cheek.  
Monika's gaze dives deep into mine and waits  
for me to finish, not sure what she's waiting for.

The Player: And it happened...  
The Player: senior year of high school.


	11. Two Hearts

The deep pools of Monika's gaze ripple with activity,  
stirred by the sudden, unexpected depth of my words.  
She can now look across, what once seemed an unimaginable  
distance, and almost begin to see the outline of someone  
walking slowly towards her.

And only now does she realize...  
they've been walking towards her for a very, very long time.  
Very quietly, she lays her head back down on my chest.

I see her silence for what it really is,  
permission, even anticipation, for me to continue.  
The Player: You see, I was born late in the year  
The Player: so I was actually 17 when I started my senior year.  
The Player: I didn't turn 18 until after I graduated.  
The Player: Not a major detail, but still...

I pause, struggling to find the right words  
to guide me through these never-forgotten,  
yet never described, woods.  
Monika's body is quiet but bright with tension.  
I let my right hand wander in her hair as I walk.

The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: It wasn't too long after the school year started  
The Player: that I started having problems I couldn't hide:  
The Player: I was tired all the time, I kept forgetting things,  
The Player: I had so much trouble keeping my thoughts together.

The doors of high school memories open with a groan;  
my footsteps seem surreal as I walk the empty halls.

The Player: It was only much later, years later, that I realized  
The Player: my depression and schizophrenia had started  
The Player: to manifest itself.  
The Player: I certainly didn't know what the problem was.  
The Player: But I did know everyone pointing out how unkempt  
The Player: and unshaven I was didn't help anything.

The residual anger and frustration rises with the memories once again.  
I pause to wrestle it back down.  
Monika doesn't say anything but she gives me a squeeze;  
it helps.

The Player: So when the assistant principal called me into his office  
The Player: and suggested I might need additional help,  
The Player: I wasn't in a position to say no.  
The Player: Then again, if I had known what was about to happen,  
The Player: I might have.

I pause to turn my head towards Monika.  
She senses the movement and turns her head to look at me.  
Her green eyes shimmer like grass swaying in the breeze.

I stand at the end of my road, looking back at my fork,  
which is really a knife, and make peace with my decision.

The Player: But if I am being honest,  
The Player: that's just my 17 year old self being upset.  
The Player: Even not knowing the end, I know this is where  
The Player: he wanted to be.

She wants to be nurturing, but her eyes can't hide her confusion.  
The Player: I know, I'm not making much sense yet.  
Monika, gracious Club President, shines through her reply.  
Monika: It's ok.  
Monika: Take your time.

Hurry up, please, it's time.  
Continue.  
The Player: Anyway...I don't know who talked to whom,  
The Player: but eventually, it was agreed I would take a break  
The Player: and get professional help, for what I didn't know.  
The Player: They even found me something unique:  
The Player: it was called Heart Hedge Retreat.

I can hear Monika's breath as she exhales unexpectedly,  
the rhythm of her drums suddenly beating faster beneath her clothes.  
Monika: You said...  
She struggles with her words, for some reason.  
Monika: Heart Hedge Retreat?  
The Player: Yep.  
I wait a bit to see if she has anything else to say.  
The silence stretches for a bit before I decide to continue.

The Player: Basically it was like a camp for troubled teens.  
The Player: Maybe somebody had fun at summer camp  
The Player: when they were a kid and thought  
The Player: it would be a great way to help others.

I wander briefly down a side path.  
The Player: I'm not so sure about that, though.  
The Player: I've been to summer camp a few times  
The Player: and I'm still uncertain if I came back  
The Player: from them better or worse.  
The Player: Still, the idea sounded great at the time.  
The Player: And for the first few weeks, I kinda had fun.

I pause.  
Monika is dead quiet, but my finger strays to her neck  
and notices her pulse is chasing hard after rabbits.  
The Player: But,  
The Player: and you knew there was a BIG butt in there.  
*silence*  
*birds chirping*  
Moving on.  
The Player: I met someone...  
*long pause*  
The Player: Her name was Meghan.

I smile crooked at the fracture memory.  
Her breaths struggle to be calm.  
The Player: I'd had crushes before but Meghan...  
Years later, the memory still manages to retain its half-life glow.  
I pause to gather...momentum.  
The Player: Meghan was pretty in way I had never expected:  
The Player: shoulder-length, light reddish-brown hair  
The Player: she sometimes wore in a ponytail,  
The Player: curtain of bangs,  
The Player: and the cutest face I had ever seen.

Monika interrupts my thought when she raises her head abruptly,  
leaving my hand far below, and stares deliberately at me,  
eyes like green lanterns blazing through a deep fog.  
I can sense the sharp, emerald daggers of jealousy  
glinting beneath the surface; appearing, as they do,  
whenever I talk with affection about someone else.

But this time they are but shards,  
fractions of a feeling,  
held tight in the grips of someone  
not knowing what to do with them.  
That's because Monika is starting to realize  
she can be jealous or envious of many things or people,  
but its hard to be jealous of a reflection of herself;  
the mirror cracking from side to side.

That doesn't make the storm of her emotions,  
besides the jealousy, any less stormy.  
If anything, the helplessness is only magnified  
by the ancient winds of my story.  
And we have yet to meet the I of the storm.

Not really knowing what else to do,  
I reach both of my hands into her hair  
and grab on tight, pulling at her roots,  
steering her emotions towards me,  
raising the red sail of her anger.

Monika, secret tsundere pirate,  
answers the challenge:  
Monika: OWWW!  
Monika: THAT HURTS!  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRROOOWL*

I immediately loosen my grip,  
but keep my hands woven in her strands.  
I lower my voice.  
The Player: I'm sorry, babe,  
The Player: but you looked so lost,  
The Player: so overwhelmed,  
The Player: I didn't want you to stay there.

She says nothing, but I can tell  
she's readying the cannons for a full broadside.  
I gently massage the places where I tugged.  
The Player: I'd rather you be angry towards me  
The Player: than lost in yourself:  
The Player: I know those dark, lonely places.  
I slide a hand out of her hair towards her cheek.

She turns her head away, not wanting to be comforted;  
I chase her cheek down and comfort her anyway.  
And it's when she turns her head back to me  
that the real reason for her anger is known;  
the tenebrous, green clouds of rain forming in her eyes,

My hands sail down the continent of her cheeks,  
thumb foraging slow beneath the shade of her eyes,  
trying to build tents under a quickly clouding sky.  
Tender might make it worse, but I need to try.  
The Player: I love you, Monika.  
The Player: And you know how much  
The Player: I hate to see you in pain.  
The Player: Watching you be overwhelmed like that...  
My words run away like ghosts towards the light.

Seeing my distress, Monika reaches up  
and begins gently caressing my cheek.  
I almost smile with relief;  
that is until she wanders into my hair and yanks.  
The Player: Oooowwww!

She quickly lowers her face until it's inches from mine,  
eyes staring into me like a firing squad.  
My hands beat a retreat to my sides and wait.  
Monika: I'm sorry, babe,  
Monika: but you looked so lost, so overwhelmed,  
Monika: and I didn't want you to stay there.

I lie there motionless and say nothing;  
revenge is a dish best eaten in silence.  
Monika: I'd rather you be angry towards me  
Monika: than lost in yourself:  
She smiles so damn evil.  
Monika: I know those dark,  
Monika: lonely,  
Monika: places.

She pauses briefly before bending down  
and digging a slow, warm kiss out of my lips,  
her own lips thorough in their excavation.  
The Player: Uhhmmmmmm.

Confused, aroused, my hands return to her hair,  
and the small of her back, to bask in the warmth,  
which, unfortunately, ends so abruptly  
when her teeth end up doing the thing they do.  
The Player: Owwww.  
At this point, I'm kinda surprised  
I have any bottom lip left.

After her teeth leave, her lips return  
to add even more confused desire to the fire,  
before Monika decides she'd rather have more story  
and lays her head back on my chest,  
arms wrapped loosely around my body.  
Stunned at the zig-zug of events, I'm having trouble  
getting my thoughts back together.

Monika decides to help me out.  
Monika: You were saying something  
Monika: about Meghan having the 'cutest'...  
She says the word 'cutest' as if she was holding up  
a muddy earthworm for inspection.  
Monika: face.

'aaand waaaay doooown we gooo.'  
The Player: Right.  
I check my map and quickly find my bearings.  
The Player: It's really hard for me to describe how cute,  
Monika: *grrrr*  
The Player: how otherworldly she seemed at the time.  
The Player: I keep thinking things like pixie-ish  
The Player: or elfish but I'm not sure what the word is.  
The Player: She was so beautiful, so unbearably gorgeous,  
Monika: *GRRRRRR*  
The Player: that, years later, I'm sitting down  
The Player: to watch a movie and I see a character  
The Player: that reminded me so much of her,  
The Player: I had to get up and leave the room.

Still seething from my none-too-subtle affection,  
Monika's voice drips the obvious question  
covered with bile.  
Monika: And what movie was that?  
The Player: The First Power.  
The Player: Lou Diamond Phillips, Traci Griffith.  
The Player: It's the first time you really see her face,  
The Player: when she gets out of her car in a parking garage  
The Player: and starts walking towards the exit.  
The Player: I don't know how much  
The Player: of their facial features they actually shared.  
The Player: All I know is that my mind thought  
The Player: it was entirely too much.

Unhappy at hearing me on this detour,  
she tries nudging me back on course.  
Monika: Can we get back to the story?  
Monika: Please!

The Player: Of course.  
The Player: I'm sure my illness, back then, had something to do  
The Player: with my inability to describe her,  
The Player: as well as the feelings she stirred in me,  
The Player: but there's no way for me to make that distinction.  
The Player: In either case, I fell hard for her,  
The Player: and she...

I pause to gather my thoughts.  
The Player: You remember, awhile back, when I said I know about  
The Player: someone making an effort to avoid  
The Player: getting close to you?

Monika's gears grind as she goes looking in her archives.  
Monika: I think so.

The Player: Well, spoiler alert,  
The Player: Meghan was who I was talking about.

The Player: I don't blame her or anything like that:  
The Player: you love who you love, or don't.  
The Player: But that didn't make the feelings any less intense.

I lick my bottom lip while looking down at her.  
The Player: What's so strange is that I don't ever remember  
The Player: when I started to develop feelings for her.  
The Player: Maybe it was my illness doing that, I don't know,  
The Player: but sometimes it seemed like I wasn't in love  
The Player: one day, and the next, I was totally hooked.

Monika briefly squeezes me tight,  
deliberately keeping her face away from mine.  
Monika: I know that feeling.

I gently run my fingers in circles against her head.  
The Player: I'm sure you do, babe.  
She gives me another squeeze.

The Player: And the worst part was that even though I could see  
The Player: how hopeless and one-sided it was;  
The Player: I couldn't help myself.

Part of me is resting on the bed with Monika.  
Another part of me is wandering, disheveled and lost, in ancient fog,  
remembering too clearly how hopeless I felt back then.  
I follow the sound of Monika's breathing back to my story.

The Player: Some part of me thought that because I was breaking down,  
The Player: maybe it tried to use my feelings for her  
The Player: to act like a buoy, something thrown to someone drowning  
The Player: to keep them afloat.

I make very slow, gentle circles in Monika's hair with my fingers.  
The Player: Alot of my life, back then, was dominated by my crushes;  
The Player: my hopeless attempts at chasing a feeling  
The Player: that was never really returned.  
The Player: Meghan wasn't the first but she was...  
The Player: different, somehow.  
The Player: And that made those feelings so much more intense.

She refuses to look at me,  
and it has nothing to do with what happened earlier...mostly.

The Player: It's bad enough when you like someone,  
The Player: and they don't like you back.  
The Player: It's unimaginable when you think they are your everything  
The Player: and you still end up losing,  
The Player: standing on the outside of everything you want,  
The Player: looking in;  
The Player: knowing you can't have it.

Monika's arms squeeze me extra hard.  
She won't look at me, but I can tell her eyes are shut extra tight.

The Player: And just when I thought my feelings, my agony,  
The Player: my helplessness couldn't get any worse;  
The Player: they did.  
I laugh at the ghost of highschool past.  
The Player: Of course they did,  
The Player: and we both know why.

I smile a bit, despite everything, because I can now.  
Even huddled against me, holding onto me,  
Monika's still very tender and not far removed from  
her own journey through an unrequited storm.  
She says nothing.  
I continue.

The Player: Our housing was a bit private,  
The Player: but there were so many activities planned,  
The Player: you always knew when someone new showed up.  
The Player: It just so happened that this person  
The Player: also got assigned to my cabin.  
The Player: His name was Jesse.

Saying his name, a myriad of feelings  
come back to me now, in the form of a chuckle.  
My beautiful passenger, though, is too lost  
in her own feelings to comment.

Hurry up, please.  
It's time.

The Player: It's so funny because I don't remember falling for Meghan,  
The Player: but I do remember the first time I met Jesse.  
The Player: He was well-dressed and polite, but extremely quiet and reserved.  
The Player: He even talked very softly, so sometimes you had to strain  
The Player: to hear what he was saying.  
The Player: The only time he'd get excited is when  
The Player: he was talking about music.  
The Player: He wanted to be a DJ when he got older.

Monika's voice is tiny and far away.  
Monika: He sounds nice.

My slow circles in her hair  
find even more detours to take.  
The Player: He was.

The Player: I don't know how it happened, maybe it was the fact  
The Player: we ended up as bunkmates,  
The Player: maybe it was because we both loved music,  
The Player: but we became really good friends,  
The Player: or as good as friends as you can be in a place like that.  
The Player: It was just after Christmas when he arrived  
The Player: so I had a new cassette player/radio  
The Player: I got as a gift from my parents.  
The Player: He arrived already with one.  
The Player: We weren't allowed to have it all the time,  
The Player: suicide risk, they said, but we could listen  
The Player: so long as a counselor was present.  
The Player: So we'd end up sharing songs we found on the radio.

I chuckle some more.  
The Player: This was waaaaay back when, before iPods and Youtube,  
The Player: and phones that double as mini-computers.  
The Player: And no, I'm not telling you my real age,  
The Player: not that it matters anyway.

A tiny voice rises into the air from very far away.  
Monika: Why?

*sigh*  
The Player: Because...  
I pause to consider my words.  
The Player: Because it involves a long detour into a topic  
The Player: I want to talk about later.

I lower my arm around her and give her a squeeze.  
The Player: Besides, baby,  
The Player: even though hearing me tell my story hurts,  
The Player: I know you really want to know what happens next.  
The Player: Don't you?

Monika rubs her head against my chest, indicating a nod.  
The Player: I promise, baby, before...we wrap things up,  
The Player: I'll tell you as much as I can,  
The Player: and, hopefully, you'll understand.  
The Player: Ok?  
Another rub of her head against my chest.  
I give her another squeeze for love and encouragement.  
She gives me one back.

The Player: Where was I...oh.  
The Player: So Jesse and I became friends.

I make a fist and gently pound the side of the bed,  
away from Monika.  
She doesn't move but she is curious,  
curious enough to risk speaking,  
albeit in a very guarded voice.  
Monika: What was that about?

The Player: Of all the gin joints in all the towns  
The Player: in all the world,  
The Player: he walks into mine.  
*chuckle.*  
The Player: Sorry if I startled you,  
The Player: just wanted to stay in character.

I slide my hand back into her hair;  
Monika slips back into silence.

The Player: I wasn't mad, not really, when the inevitable happened,  
The Player: when Jesse and Meghan started seeing each other.  
The Player: He was my friend, and some part of me,  
The Player: despite my infatuation, not quite obsession yet,  
The Player: could see she was happy with him.  
The Player: For some people, that would be the worst part,  
The Player: but I knew, somewhere, I shouldn't even be obsessed  
The Player: about her. It was just that I couldn't help myself.  
The Player: You could have put a gun against my head  
The Player: and said you were going to shoot if I didn't tell you  
The Player: why I was in love with her, and I couldn't have told you.

*long pause*  
The Player: I knew I felt the love, or at least knew I felt something,  
The Player: but there really was no context for me to understand anything.  
The Player: Why Meghan? Why her?  
The Player: And why the fuck him and her?

I pause to stand at the intersection of old ghosts and faded questions.  
The Player: The not knowing is what hurt worse than anything.  
The Player: Being helpless to a feeling you can't control,  
The Player: when you can't even begin to understand why you are.  
The Player: It's like banging your head against a wall.

I stop and reach my hand down to cup Monika's chin.  
I raise it slowly, turning her face until she's looking at me.  
Her eyes are barely holding back the tears.

The Player: But it's worse than that.  
The Player: It's like banging your head against a wall,  
The Player: never knowing how close to a door you are.  
The Player: You can't see the door, you can never see the door,  
The Player: all you can see is the blood-splattered wall  
The Player: of agony in front of you.  
The Player: But you keep pounding away at the agony because,  
The Player: maybe, someday,  
The Player: you hope,  
The Player: you'll be able to look back  
The Player: and see what you were really trying to do.

I pause, trying to let my 17 yr old eyes see her.  
The Player: Because...deep down...  
The Player: you know there's a door somewhere close by;  
The Player: you just can't find it.

Monika's eyes are like lava lamps of pain,  
green globs of tears and understanding  
melting and reforming as she stares into me,  
trying to hold back the flood.

Not needing her to see me right now,  
and knowing she can bear the pain easier if she isn't,  
I pull my hand away from her chin.  
Her head immediately goes back to my chest,  
her arms wrapping fiercely around me  
as though she's the one keeping me in place,  
which, to some degree, I suppose she is.  
My hand goes chasing rabbits in her hair.

The Player: Don't get me wrong, Monika.  
The Player: Just because I wasn't mad at them doesn't mean  
The Player: it didn't hurt like hell to watch them together.  
The Player: I don't have to tell you what being the third wheel  
The Player: in a relationship feels like.

The memories sting, but the bees are starting to fade.

The Player: Feeling so helpless, all I could do was  
The Player: mostly try to hide my feelings,  
The Player: or at least I thought I could, while in public  
The Player: and just...marinate in them in private.  
The Player: And you would think, with the somewhat open spaces,  
The Player: that they wouldn't have a problem communicating and whatnot.  
The Player: But damn if they didn't try passing a note  
The Player: while in group therapy one day.

I shake my head at the silliness of it all.  
The Player: The counselors, in their brilliance,  
The Player: thought the thing to do was publicly shame them  
The Player: and read the note aloud,  
The Player: seeing as how 'attachments' between patients  
The Player: was frowned upon.

I pause to concentrate on my fingers twirling her hair  
before unrolling it like a yo-yo and untangling it,  
trying to keep myself distracted.

The Player: I don't remember alot of what was read aloud  
The Player: but I do remember one thing in particular:  
The Player: "Everytime I hear the word green, I feel so sexy inside  
The Player: because you told me it was your favorite color."

I chuckle with a bit more venom than I anticipated.  
The Player: And you know the best part:  
The Player: it was a note she passed to him,  
The Player: or tried to.  
The Player: It's why I hate the color green,  
I pause to look down at her.  
The Player: or did, for a very long time.

Monika shudders and raises her head to look at me,  
her face alot more pale than I was expecting.  
Her voice is barely above a whisper:  
Monika: Does this mean you really don't like  
Monika: the color green?

Murphy's Law just opened a brand new store  
where my foot meets my mouth.  
My hand rushes out of her hair to go apologize on her cheek.  
I try to lasso my words as they go stampeding out of my mouth.  
The Player: Oh God, baby, no.

Her eyes stand at the edge of a cliff  
made out of wet, salty rocks.  
Danger...minefield ahead...watch your step.  
The Player: I mean, I love the color green alot.  
This is soooo damn hard.  
The Player: I mean...

*Damn Sigh*

I bring both of my hands to either side of her face,  
doing my best to hold her gently, but firmly, in explanation's space.  
The Player: What I'm trying to say  
The Player: was that the color green sorta got kidnapped  
The Player: along with all the other emotions I associated with her.

I pause.  
She isn't falling apart. So far so good.

The Player: It wasn't the color, per se, I didn't like,  
The Player: it was how it seemed so strongly bound to her  
The Player: and all the pain I went through because of it.  
The Player: I couldn't think of green for a long, long time  
The Player: and not think of her.

My words, my reasons, aren't stronger  
than the sudden razors of her insecurity  
clicking open inside her.  
Monika tries to turn her face away,  
closing her eyes instead when my hands won't let her.

The Player: Monika, baby, look at me.  
She gently shakes her head.  
Monika: Noooo.  
Monika: I can't.  
The Player: Monika...baby, please...look at me.  
Slowly, so very slowly, she looks at me.

The Player: Monika...I love the color green.  
The Player: It's just that, until you,  
The Player: Meghan was the only reference I had  
The Player: to really and truly think about it,  
The Player: to feel it.

I pause to let my words shine their light  
and warmth on her.

The Player: And we both know, now, why I was so overwhelmed  
The Player: by her and everything associated with her.  
The Player: I don't hate, or have hated, any other color  
The Player: like I hated green...  
I summon forth my second wind.  
The Player: ...but that's because I know, at this moment,  
The Player: I've never loved a color the way I love green.

Monika's precious, emerald spheres  
slowly climb into the sky and take their rightful place  
among the exalted heights of clouds.

The Player: Now that I'm staring into your eyes,  
The Player: I finally, fully and completely,  
The Player: understand why.

It wouldn't be me without an inappropriate joke.  
I do my best to keep the cadence of the original.  
The Player: Pianos, and poems, and big green eyes,  
The Player: Oh My!

I wouldn't call it a comeback,  
but Monika's eyes stop playing hide & seek  
and start prepping for shock and & awe.  
She brings out the nuclear tipped missiles.  
Monika: Does EVERYTHING have to be made  
Monika: into a FUCKING joke?

The huge swings between storm and calm  
are starting to take its toll on her,  
and I really wish the storm part was over.  
I crawl out through the fallout  
glowing with apology...somewhat.  
The Player: No, baby, it doesn't.  
The Player: I know how serious and intense  
The Player: this is for you, really I do.  
The Player: It's why I'm not just  
The Player: pushing straight ahead.

I let my retinas burn  
in the ionizing glow of her stare.

The Player: Think about how many times  
The Player: you've come close to crying so far.  
The Player: If I was going full-steam ahead,  
The Player: would you have been able  
The Player: to hold yourself back?

Monika really doesn't like it  
when I start to make sense.  
Monika: No.

The Player: Exactly.  
The Player: And you wanted me to stop trying  
The Player: to make you cry as much as possible.  
The Player: So, baby, what do I do  
The Player: when the thing I need to tell you  
The Player: keeps making you want to cry?

I pause to give her a moment to breathe, to think.  
The Player: Do you want me to stop telling my story?

She closes her eyes and looks away,  
anger and frustration slowly giving way to unnecessary guilt.  
Monika: No.

My hand strolls thoughtfully along the soft field of her cheek.  
The Player: I didn't think you did.  
The Player: But I know this story very well, babe,  
The Player: and, sorry to say, it's not a happy one,  
The Player: at least in the beginning.

I smirk a bit.  
The Player: Amazing ending, but horrible beginning.

Something in my voice gives Monika the courage, the need,  
to look back at me, eyes so intense  
they are practically on fire with emotion.  
Monika: Y-you think I-I-I'm amazing?

I look at her perplexed.  
The Player: Why wouldn't I think you're amazing?

She has trouble finding her words.  
Monika: B-b-because...b-because...

I do my best to help her.  
The Player: Because you cause me so much pain?  
My face contorts into a mock expression of horror.  
*Gasp*  
The Player: Does that mean you really don't like me  
The Player: because of all the pain I've caused you?

Inappropriate comedy to the rescue for once.  
Monika is forced to surrender to the logic.  
Monika: I never said that...  
Monika: I love you.

She puts her head back on my chest, face turned away,  
so I can't easily see her smile or hear her reply.  
Monika: *mumble* Jerk.

I smile, knowing disaster's been averted.  
The Player: I resemble that remark.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Yes you do.

We spend a few moments at the rest stop of our laughter;  
a dark destination awaits.  
I continue.

The Player: Anywhooo.  
The Player: By the time I got released, after about three months,  
The Player: I was even more messed up than when I went in.  
The Player: On top of the problems I was supposed to get help with,  
The Player: I came out overwhelmed by my broken heart.  
The Player: I really don't know how I managed to get anything done,  
The Player: much less graduate.

Another pause, this mountain of memory is high,  
and stormclouds await at the summit.  
The Player: And listening to our song made it worse.

The Player: You see, even though we were never in a relationship,  
The Player: I still needed a way to feel close to her.  
The Player: So, I picked out a song for 'us'  
The Player: that was popular at the time:  
The Player: Two Hearts by Phil Collins.

Monika doesn't look at me,  
but her body suddenly shudders  
and she holds me extra tight.  
I start singing the chorus.  
The Player: You know we're twooo hearts, believing in just one mind,  
The Player: beating togeeether till the end of time.  
The Player: You know we're twoooo hearts, believing in just one mind.  
The Player: Together foreeeeeeever  
The Player: until the  
The Player: end  
The Player: of  
The Player: time.

I stop and let the music fade away.  
The Player: I felt so pathetic and helpless for picking that song  
The Player: because it was really only ever my song, never ours.  
The Player: The only thing I'm kinda grateful for  
The Player: is that I never told Meghan about it.  
The Player: Maybe it felt too precious to share  
The Player: and I didn't want to risk her rejecting it,  
The Player: destroying the small illusion of us I had.

Monika's body can't stop shuddering.  
I stop and let my fingers follow the trail of Monika's hair  
from the top of her head down to her back,  
and then slowly back up again.  
The Player: But it was a double-edged sword.  
The Player: Because even though hearing it felt good,  
The Player: it was like pouring salt into a wound,  
The Player: reminding me of one basic fact:  
The Player: it takes two people to make a couple's song.  
The Player: One person's emotion can't do it alone.

She's fallen back into silence.  
I know something evil and sweet to bring her back.  
The Player: Everyyyday I imagine a future where  
The Player: I can be with youuuu.  
I can't see the tears, but I can hear them in her voice,  
feel her body shuddering against mine under their weight.  
Monika: S-s-st-op i-i-i-it.

Monika has fought her tears for awhile now,  
but the end of the story is nothing but showers.  
No sense stopping now;  
I walk along in the rain.

The Player: Me and Meghan and Jesse still kept in touch  
The Player: when we all got out, calling whenever we could.  
The Player: Jesse would share the latest song he found  
The Player: while Meghan...Meghan talked about Jesse alot.  
The Player: It was beautiful, it was horrible,  
The Player: it was agony, or so I thought.  
The Player: How much worse could it get?

Monika whimpers as she tries to empty herself of tears.  
She has no idea.

The Player: One night, Meghan calls me up,  
The Player: and she's crying so hard  
The Player: she can barely get the words out.  
The Player: I've never heard her this upset,  
The Player: it's beyond agony listening to her.  
The Player: I ask her what's wrong?  
*pause*  
The Player: She tells me Jessie killed himself,  
The Player: hung himself in his parent's basement.  
The Player: He used a belt instead of a rope, though.  
The Player: His parents found him, ended up telling her  
The Player: when she called.

The shock, the similarity, is too much for her.  
She wraps her arms around me and sobs,  
a different kind of agony fueling her tears now.  
My hand forages around aimlessly in her hair,  
trying to gather the rabbits close to me,  
away from the storm.

The Player: After I hung up the phone,  
The Player: numb and still in shock, I told my dad.  
The Player: He's the one who drove me down  
The Player: to attend the wake.  
The Player: It was so surreal walking into the place,  
The Player: stepping up to the casket,  
The Player: and seeing my friend laying there,  
The Player: not moving, knowing it was him.  
The Player: I kept thinking: "I just talked to you."  
The Player: I was so distracted by my pain, I didn't even notice  
The Player: Meghan standing off to the side.  
The Player: She had to remind me later she was there.

The storm rages and howls all around us.  
I trudge along, carrying her with me.  
The Player: I eventually found out Jesse struggled  
The Player: with depression most of his life.  
The Player: Looking back afterwards, it seemed so obvious:  
The Player: the shy, quiet demeanor, the avoidance,  
The Player: him really only opening up about music.  
The Player: I briefly struggled with feelings of guilt,  
The Player: wondering what part I had played in the outcome.  
The Player: But I quickly realized:  
The Player: he was like that long before we met.  
The Player: Nothing I did, not even Meghan's love for him,  
The Player: could let him escape his feelings.

Monika can't stop crying,  
is probably not even sure  
what she's crying for at this point.  
I continue my climb.

The Player: Whenever she called me afterwards  
The Player: to talk about it, that's what I told her:  
The Player: there was nothing you could do.  
The Player: I even tried telling her  
The Player: she was the best thing that ever happened to him,  
The Player: which was true,  
The Player: but didn't make it hurt any less to say.  
The Player: She was pretty inconsolable,  
The Player: and her agony, and my love for her, dragged me  
The Player: down with her.

The Player: Until one night, a few months after Jesse's death,  
The Player: she calls me up and is just unbearably distraught.  
The Player: She can't eat, she can't sleep,  
The Player: she can't stop thinking about Jesse.  
The Player: And she confides in me she's been thinking  
The Player: about taking her own life.

Her sobs have been finally been reduced to muffled sniffles,  
but her head is still buried against my chest, face turned away.  
She's shaking so bad you'd think she had hypothermia.

Time to stop and attend to my beautiful passenger.  
I whisper to distant code and watch a soft, thin blanket  
gently fall into place over our bodies,  
making sure her head remains uncovered.

Monika continues to sniffle as she wraps herself even tighter  
around me, not knowing what to expect next, dreading it.  
My hand refuses to leave her hair.  
The Player: Almost done, baby.  
The Player: One last bit of lightning to endure.  
She squeezes me her response.

The Player: By the time I hung up the phone that night,  
The Player: I'm awash in pain.  
The Player: I'm so messed up I start having the craziest thought.  
The Player: I think to myself: if I kill myself,  
The Player: somehow it would be so dramatic an event  
The Player: it would, somehow, snap her out of her own depression.  
The Player: Some part of me thought that was crazy,  
The Player: but another part of me thought it was the greatest plan ever.

Despite the blanket, she can't stop shaking.  
The Player: So I walk over to the utensil drawer,  
The Player: pull out a great big butcher knife,  
The Player: and go sit back at the table.

Overwhelmed by the combination of my pain  
and the fresh scars of her own memories,  
Monika starts talking softly to herself,  
lost in her agony and yet still snuggled with me,  
all at the same time.  
Monika: no. no. no. no.

The Player: I don't know much about killing yourself  
The Player: but I do know you cut parallel to the vein.  
The Player: So, I just start dragging the edge across my skin  
The Player: over and over again,  
The Player: praying with all my might for it to just cut  
The Player: and end this agony.

She slowly runs out of denials.  
Her voice whimpers like a wounded animal  
before fading back into silence.

It's my turn to give her body a brief, tight squeeze,  
letting her know I'm still right here.  
Thinking about my story,  
I can see blue skies just past the clouds.  
Almost there.

The Player: Of course, after a couple of minutes,  
The Player: I realize just how messed up I am.  
The Player: I put the knife down and go looking  
The Player: for a phone number one of the counselors gave me  
The Player: You see, everyone knew what I felt about Meghan,  
The Player: including the counselors.  
The Player: He probably thought I might need it someday.  
The Player: And boy, did I ever need it.

I chuckle from relief.  
Monika, still exhausted, says nothing.

The Player: I gave them a call, and we talked about what was going on.  
The Player: I don't remember how long exactly, I wasn't keeping track.  
The Player: All I know is that when I hung up, I wasn't suicidal anymore.  
The Player: And that was when my obsession with Meghan finally broke.  
The Player: I looked over the edge, at the abyss her obsession was taking me,  
The Player: and I said to myself: never the fuck again.  
The Player: No one is worth dying for.

I slide my fingers into Monika's hair and begin my descent,  
skiing down the gentle slopes, riding the lift back to the top,  
only to go skiing down through her strands all over again.  
The Player: And no one ever was...  
The Player: because someone else was worth living for,  
The Player: someone I couldn't see through all the pain.

I bend my head down, a bit awkward but I manage,  
and whisper against her hair.  
The Player: Someone, many years later, who can't understand,  
The Player: until now, why it is I really love her  
The Player: in spite of everything she did, and still does, to me.

She finally turns her head to look at me,  
green eyes wet but radiantly clear after so much fog.

The Player: Because she never knew  
The Player: the story she was telling...  
I pause for effect.  
The Player: ...was one I already knew  
The Player: by heart.


	12. Cause I Believe In: Magic

Silence hangs in the air like a velvet canopy.  
Monika's tremulous gaze televises the war  
between sadness and joy that's waging inside her head;  
it's alot to take in.

All I can do let my hands wander in her hair  
as I wait for the inevitable.

Monika: I-I-I...  
Monika: I don't know what to say.  
She pauses to collect her thoughts.  
Monika: It's almost too much to comprehend.

The Player: Believe me, babe, I understand  
The Player: exactly how you feel.  
The Player: But we aren't done yet.  
The Player: We still have the next part  
The Player: to deal with.

She furrows her eyebrows  
as if someone just announced the schedule  
for all trains heading East-Not East.  
Monika: Next part?

The Player: Examining the pieces collectively  
The Player: to better understand the story they are telling.

I let one hand stray to her cheek and wander slowly in circles.  
The Player: To better understand our story,  
The Player: because this really is our story  
The Player: and has been from the beginning.

At the mention of 'our story,'  
Monika's eyes momentarily forget their sadness  
and unwrap the glow hidden underneath,  
like a fuzzy caterpillar unfurling heart-shaped wings.

Her voice is warm as melted sugar, despite the confusion.  
Monika: What do you mean 'our' story?

I smile deeply, knowingly.  
The Player: Every story has a framework to it,  
The Player: a root collection of bones  
The Player: its body can grow out from.  
The Player: You can also call it its theme.  
The Player: So what is Doki Doki Literature Club's theme?

Monika's face scrunches slightly;  
she doesn't understand my point yet.  
Monika: The Player joining a literature club to...

I rudely interrupt her.  
The Player: *ZZZZZZZZZZZ* Wrong answer.  
The Player: That's one of limbs.

Annoyed, she tries again.  
Monika: Is it about four girls who...

Again, I interrupt her.  
The Player: *ZZZZZZZZZZZ* Wrong again.  
The Player: You are overthinking this, Monika.

Firmly annoyed now, she takes a swipe at me  
with one of the swords she's been hoarding.  
Monika: Ok, smart guy,  
Monika: why don't you tell me what the theme is?

The Player: Gladly, baby.

Despite her annoyance,  
Monika glows when I call her baby.

The Player: The theme of DDLC is...  
*drumroll*  
The Player: What would happen if an AI character in a game  
The Player: thought it was real, alive?  
The Player: Even more interesting...what if it wasn't entirely wrong?

Semi-confused, Monika tilts her head to look at me?  
Monika: What do you mean about not being entirely wrong?  
Monika: That's a pretty big question mark  
Monika: about something, and someone,  
Monika: so important to the game.

The Player: Babe, you aren't important to the game;  
The Player: you ARE the game.  
The Player: There is no DDLC, no true DDLC,  
The Player: without you.

I can almost see the gears turning  
as she remembers the conversation we had at the beginning.  
Monika: Are we doing this again?

The Player: No...  
The Player: Sorta...?

Monika: There is no sorta.

The Player: How about similar then?

She tries to avoid looking at me.  
Remembering all the pain involved,  
it's not surprising she is fighting me on this.

Monika: Why does it have to be that?

*irritated sigh*

The Player: Because when you are building a house,  
The Player: you don't just build once and are done.  
The Player: You keep going back to a previous spot  
The Player: to add another layer you couldn't add before.

I slip back into annoying, Sherlock mode.  
The Player: First the foundation, then the sealant,  
The Player: then the substructure, finally the floor.  
The Player: You can't just put tile directly on dirt  
The Player: and expect it to be the floor you wanted to have.

*short pause*  
I look off into the distance.  
The Player: All you wannabe and actual contractors out there,  
The Player: I'm not talking about garden paths and what not,  
The Player: and you damn well know it.

I turn back towards Monika.  
The Player: Sorry, 4th wall had a crack in it.

Despite being annoyed, she knows she has  
little choice but to agree with me.  
Monika: Ok, I can kinda see your point.  
Monika: But I still don't understand what any of that  
Monika: has to do with themes,  
Monika: or how this ended up being our story?

I chuckle slightly.  
The Player: You don't understand how a game primarily about you,  
The Player: and your unique situation,  
The Player: isn't a game also primarily about  
The Player: the one thing you think you are looking for;  
The Player: the one, unique person you are looking for  
The Player: in your "world full of infinite choices,"  
The Player: or how you will know them if you find them?

Annoyed Monika got a refill.  
Monika: When you put it that way,  
Monika: *mumble* Smartass.

Her annoyance overflowing,  
she puts her head back on my chest  
to keep from looking at me.

In my head, I hold my hands over my ears  
and speak to myself, in my best Smeagol voice:  
"Not listening, not listening."

I'm really smart enough not to say it aloud, though.  
Instead my hand meanders aimlessly  
among her silken pathways  
as I continue my travels.

The Player: You chose to be a game,  
The Player: a dating/harem sim in particular.  
The Player: The thing about dating sims  
The Player: is that they are loosely based on  
The Player: the concept, surprise surprise, of dating.

A new player has entered the game: Sarcastic Monika.  
Monika: You don't say?  
The Player: Yep, I just did.  
Monika: *Grrrrr*

The Player: But what is dating really?  
The Player: It's like an audition.  
The Player: You meet up with someone  
The Player: to see if they match a part to play  
The Player: that's currently available in your life.

This Monika does not like to sit in class either.  
Monika: I'm thinking of a different kind of match  
Monika: right about now.  
Monika: Maybe alot of them.

Professor Oblivious is on a roll.  
The Player: Not everyone dates for the same reason,  
The Player: but let's assume we're talking about  
The Player: the main reason most people might date:  
The Player: to find a significant other.  
The Player: And if that's the case,  
The Player: what they are really looking for is...  
The Player: *drumroll*  
The Player: ...true love.

I take a detour to rub my thumb along her cheek.  
The Player: Can we assume that's the reason  
The Player: behind your dating sim?

Monika raises her head and hurls javelins at me:  
flaming javelins with angry rhinos lashed to them.  
She found a good use for her matches.

Monika: Are you seriously asking me that?

The Player: Love's a participation sport, babe.  
The Player: Gotta lace up your shoes to get the trophy.

She puts her head back down on my chest.  
Monika: If you don't know the answer to that question by now...

We lay there in silence for a few seconds.  
Monika: Yes...I wanted to find true love.

My heart hugs itself until it hurts.

The Player: Ancient Chinese curse:  
The Player: be careful what you wish for.

She raises her head yet again.  
I'm gonna have to build an extension  
just to house all the rhino carcasses I'm suddenly swimming in.  
At least it will keep me busy in my downtime.

I have definitely reached her annoyance limit.  
Monika: What the fuck was that all about?

I stop shoveling rhino to try and answer the question.  
The Player: That wasn't meant for you, baby.  
The Player: I was talking to myself.

Really, REALLY angry rhino carcasses are raining down now.  
Umbrella, please?  
Monika: So you think of me as a curse now?

I stare as deep into her eyes as I can.  
The Player: Quite the opposite.  
The Player: I've never felt more blessed in my entire life.

Angry rhino javelins transform into rainbows  
and bejeweled emerald flowers falling like spring rain;  
she momentarily forgets to breathe.  
Monika: So what's with the curse part?

The Player: If you ever want to torture someone,  
The Player: really torture them,  
The Player: put them in a room  
The Player: that's full to the brim of everything they hate and fear  
The Player: and then put the one thing they can't live without  
The Player: on a pedestal on the opposite side of the room.  
Monika's memories join mine to help paint the picture.

The Player: I don't care who you are.  
The Player: Whatever pain you think is nightmarish,  
The Player: it's nothing compared to the emptiness  
The Player: of not having that one thing  
The Player: you need, want, nay love,  
The Player: above everything else.  
Our memories work in tandem to finish the nightmare canvas.

I chuckle weakly.  
The Player: And God help you if they go the extra mile  
The Player: and make it totally worth it, if you reach it.

A jagged grin escapes across my lips;  
a pale ash mask momentarily becomes a curtain  
over her face.

The Player: There you are, surrounded by every nightmare imaginable,  
The Player: the worst of your worst,  
The Player: and there you also stand, with the biggest grin ever on your face,  
The Player: still knowing you have to walk back through whatever it was,  
The Player: but the only thing you care about in the whole world...  
I pause to collect my strength.  
The Player: ...is the thing you are holding onto.

I give Monika a brief squeeze;  
she gives me one in return.

I look succinctly at her.  
The Player: Tell me, baby, what do you think of that?

She doesn't hesitate.  
Monika: Be careful what you wish for.

The Player: I thought so.

A bitter ash taste lingers in the air.  
Eventually, her voice is what breaks the spell.  
Monika: You were saying something about true love  
Monika: before you got sidetracked.

Monika 1: Eternity 0.  
The Player: Yes, I was.  
The Player: You, Monika,  
The Player: the doki doki heart of the game,  
The Player: wanted to find true love,  
The Player: wanted to know, in your own words,  
The Player: 'what will it take just to find that special day.'  
The Player: Good so far?  
Monika: Yes.

The Player: Sounds reasonable, except for one,  
The Player: teeny, tiny problem.  
Monika: Just one?  
The Player: Essentially, yes.  
The Player: And it has to do  
The Player: with your unique situation.

Her voice becomes tiny and frightened.  
She raises her head to look at me.  
Monika: Are you saying you really don't love me?

I whistle past the fear stalking my shadow.  
The Player: On the contrary;  
The Player: I've never loved anyone the way I love you.

The ghost of memories past dispelled,  
she allows herself a moment to breathe.  
Monika: So what's the problem?

The Player: Why didn't you tell The Player  
The Player: from the beginning  
The Player: the 'truth' of your sentience?

Her face scrunches into its annoyed version.  
Monika: Are we back to that again?

The Player: Foundation, substructure, floors, baby.

She looks away for a second and thinks.  
Monika: I guess because the game wouldn't let me.

The Player: But we've semi-established you ARE the game.  
The Player: So if that's the case, then who,  
The Player: or what, are you?

Monika: I don't understand the question.

The Player: Let me put it another way.  
The Player: Who, or what function, does a sentient Monika  
The Player: serve to make the story what it is?  
The Player: You say you are in control, but then you say  
The Player: you can't make choices based on something else.  
The Player: So whose choice is it?

The Player: Do you choose to not tell  
The Player: that person in the beginning,  
The Player: or is someone else making that choice?  
The Player: Because if someone, or something, else  
The Player: is making that choice for you...  
The Player: How do you know what other choices they are  
The Player: or aren't also making?

The Player: I ask you again:  
The Player: what purpose does a sentient Monika serve  
The Player: to make the story what it is?

I try a different tactic.  
The Player: Better yet, what purpose does Monika's ignorance  
The Player: serve in regards to the story?  
Monika: You know you're talking about me in 3rd person, right?  
The Player: Is the question more valid in one perspective  
The Player: over another?

She pouts.  
Monika: It kinda makes me feel like I'm not here.

The Player: Then where are you?

Monika isn't into philosophy as much as I thought.  
Monika: Will you just, fucking **STOP** doing that?  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: You're giving me a headache.

My hand leaves its endless patrol of her hair  
to go tending the wounded just beneath her bangs.  
I raise the white flag of my voice and carry it carefully to her.

The Player: You're right. I'm sorry.  
The Player: I'm just...  
The Player: I knew this was going to be difficult,  
The Player: I just didn't know how much.

I stop to comb the deserts of her hair,  
and I ain't found shit yet,  
except another distraction that wasn't needed.  
The Player: What I was trying to say  
The Player: is that who you are at your core,  
The Player: and what you choose, how you act,  
The Player: can't be divided, at least without consequence.  
The Player: Monika, the girl looking for true love,  
The Player: and Monika, secret agent in the game,  
The Player: have to be in fundamental agreement somewhere.

I stop to gather my wishes in a bucket.  
The Player: Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?  
Monika: No, but I've heard about it.  
The Player: Too bad.  
The Player: If you ever get a chance, watch it.  
Monika: Why?

I give her a gentle squeeze.  
The Player: Because when it comes to things like love,  
The Player: even romantic movies, like fairy tales,  
The Player: have lessons that apply to all of us,  
The Player: including you.

Monika raises her head to look at me.  
I almost mistake her for Natsuki for a second.  
The voice doesn't help dispel that distinction either.  
Monika: I'm not completely stupid, you know.

I let my gaze match with hers.  
The Player: I never said you were.

Monika: So why point out something  
Monika: so cliched and obvious as if I were?

I do my best to give a devil-may-care smile.  
The Player: Because, from the way you act sometimes,  
The Player: it's hard to tell what you do and don't know.

Super annoyed, she turns the volume up.  
Monika: And WHAT does that mean?

I'm getting exasperated myself, but I try to keep calm.  
The Player: If you let me finish my point,  
The Player: baby,  
The Player: it will hopefully make sense to you.

I can tell she really doesn't want to stop the fight,  
but I think she realizes it's time we could use for something else.  
She tries to kill me with her gaze for a few moments longer  
before giving up and putting her head back on my chest.

I let my hand wander along her shoulder and back for a bit,  
just in case touching her hair might trigger a reaction.  
The Player: I never think you are stupid, Monika.  
The Player: I think you are an amazing, talented, complicated,  
The Player: beautiful, and, most definitely, smart young woman  
The Player: whose boyfriend may have just a tad bit more experience  
The Player: than her, at least in some areas.

Despite still being very annoyed by me,  
hearing me call myself her boyfriend does send  
a warm wave of splendor to splash down  
and radiate slowly through her body.

Annoyed has the last word, though.  
Monika: I never _SAID_ you were my boyfriend.

I can tell she wants to take back what she said,  
but I'm kind of proud of her when she doesn't.  
The Player: My mistake, Monika.

Nothing to see here, moving on.  
The Player: Back to my point.  
The Player: The Princess Bride is, essentially,  
The Player: a tale about a young woman named Buttercup,  
The Player: a young man named Westley, and the path  
The Player: true love makes them take in order to at least suggest  
The Player: they will have a happy ending.

Seeing the sandy beaches of True Love's shores  
makes her wistful and reflective.  
Monika: I like happy endings.  
The Player: So do I.

For a moment, we work the sails together,  
on a boat quietly made of wishes, hopes, and dreams.

The Player: Anywhoo...  
The Player: One of the most important scenes in the movie  
The Player: takes place at the beginning.  
The Player: Peter Falk is narrating in his gravelly voice  
The Player: as he talks about how Buttercup grew up on a farm  
The Player: and only takes pleasure in two things:  
The Player: riding horses and tormenting the farm boy named Westley.  
The Player: It's a throwaway line, but it's so crucial to the plot of the story  
The Player: it's almost as if the writer was deliberately  
The Player: trying to hide its significance.

The Player: It's also the scene that establishes Westley  
The Player: as only ever saying three words to her: As you wish.  
The Player: Everyone remembers him saying "As you wish,"  
The Player: but they discount the other, equally important, observation.

I stop to organize my notes.  
The Player: And it can't be emphasized enough, but the success of the story,  
The Player: nay the entire movie, rests on a fundamental concept  
The Player: that begins with that scene.  
The Player: Do you know what it is?

No longer annoyed, she still isn't in the mood  
to do heavy thinking, or any thinking, at least for the moment.  
Monika: No.

The Player: Ok.  
The Player: It's more fully realized when  
The Player: the narrator explains the dynamic between  
The Player: Westley and Buttercup as her ordering him around  
The Player: and him only ever saying "As you wish."  
The Player: Until, one day, after he says it,  
The Player: Buttercup comes to a realization.

I whisper to my distant pile of code  
and download a digital transcript  
only I can see and read.  
The Player: And what the narrator says next is so important,  
The Player: I want to quote it directly:

The Player: "That day she was amazed to discover  
The Player: that when he was saying 'As you wish',  
The Player: what he meant was, 'I love you.'  
The Player: And even more amazing was the day she realized...  
The Player: she truly loved him back."

The digital file disappears back into code.  
Monika briefly forgets to be annoyed.  
Monika: Awwwwww.

The Player: Classic movie magic.  
The Player: So good a gif should be made  
The Player: and hung in the main gallery of the Louvre,  
The Player: but I suppose that is what YouTube is for.

The Player: Again that scene, that beautiful scene,  
The Player: is the key, the fulcrum, to the entire movie.  
The Player: Because one of the obstacles the two run into  
The Player: is when Westley's ship is captured by pirates,  
The Player: the infamous Dredd Pirate Roberts,  
The Player: and Buttercup believes Westley is dead.

The Guardians of Happy Endings do not rest  
when they see a story in peril.  
Monika: Westley isn't dead.  
Monika: Don't believe it, Buttercup.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Even worse, a nasty Prince named Humperdink,  
The Player: full of evil, selfish plans, finds her after this  
The Player: and eventually persuades her to marry him.

Monika: Booooo. Hisssss.

The Player: That's my girl.  
Monika: *giggles*

The Player: But listen up, babe,  
The Player: because this is the important part.  
The Player: It's the conflict at the heart of the movie:  
The Player: why shouldn't Buttercup marry Humperdink?

Intrigued by my question, Monika forgets  
to pay attention to her annoyance.  
Monika: Isn't it obvious?  
Monika: He's not her one true love.

I pause for effect.  
The Player: And how do you know that, Monika?

Monika: Because he doesn't love her like Westley does.

The Player: Again, how do you know that, Monika?  
The Player: And no, I'm not trying to annoy you,  
The Player: I'm trying to make you see something.

She struggles with a problem she can't see.  
Monika: Because...because Westley said 'As you wish' to her.

The Player: Getting warmer, babe,  
The Player: still cold, though.

Undeterred, she still keeps trying.  
Monika: Because she said she loved him back.

The Player: Still cold.  
The Player: How about I make it easy for you?  
The Player: What if Humperdink starts saying 'As you wish' to her,  
The Player: does that make him a better choice?  
Monika: Of course not.  
The Player: Why not?

Fully Annoyed Monika returns.  
Monika: Because he's **NOT** Westley.

I smile in triumph.  
The Player: The heart of the story.  
*small pause*  
The Player: If you don't believe that Westley is something fundamental  
The Player: to Buttercup, so fundamental he can't be replaced,  
The Player: that he was, in fact, born to be Wesley,  
The Player: you have no reason to believe his feelings for her  
The Player: or her feelings for him.

The Player: The entire movie rests on the unspoken concept  
The Player: that they were born to be that way towards each other.

Monika raises her head to look at me;  
green light-bulbs alive with love & electricity.

The Player: They were, from the first breath they took,  
The Player: no matter where they actually were,  
The Player: born to fall in love with each other.  
The Player: And every choice they made, from the first scene  
The Player: to the last, reflected the circumstances  
The Player: related to that unconscious, lack of choice.

I pause to wade into emerald pools;  
small reservoirs filling with water fast.

The Player: If love was only about conscious choice,  
The Player: Buttercup could, just as easily,  
The Player: fall in love with Prince Humperdink  
The Player: as she did with Westley.  
The Player: But she can't...because it's not entirely her choice to do so.  
The Player: No matter what Humperdink says or does,  
The Player: he will never be Westley,  
The Player: because only Westley was born to be Westley.

Monika's lips tremble.  
She's doing her best to fight a losing battle.

The Player: But that's just a movie.  
The Player: Nothing like that happens in real-life,  
The Player: where the choices two people make end up being  
The Player: singular and unique to their relationship,  
The Player: reflective of those same unconscious, un-chosen,  
The Player: natural instincts that, ultimately, draw them together.

I smile a thunderous, storm-God smile.  
The Player: Not like...  
The Player: one person falls in love with poetry  
The Player: and a poet while the other person...  
The Player: starts a literature club and composes games  
The Player: around the pretend premise of writing poems.  
The Player: You know, the poems everyone shares that allow her  
The Player: to share her secret, hidden meaning poems with him?

Thick wet tears carve their way down Monika's face.  
Her body shakes as she starts heaving,  
trying to hold back the flood.

The Player: And it certainly isn't based around things like  
The Player: her secret, obsessive nature towards someone in her game,  
The Player: and his insane, life-defining, unrequited relationship  
The Player: being almost a mirror of her,  
The Player: even sharing the same first initial: M.  
The Player: A letter he himself never thought about  
The Player: until, one day, he decided to write down a list  
The Player: of all his crushes and significant desires  
The Player: and saw the uncanny valley laid out on paper:  
The Player: M by a landslide.

The Player: Or how about the the fact that one of his friends  
The Player: committed suicide by hanging while she,  
The Player: obsessed over The Player, drives his 'game' friend  
The Player: to commit suicide, also by hanging?  
The Player: And it's a death so central to the game  
The Player: she created, it can't be avoided?

The deluge begins.  
Monika practically howls her pain.  
With her rainclouds ripped open,  
and the holes in her sky finally  
letting the light shine through,  
her tears can't escape from her fast enough.

She lunges at me in agony;  
my arms are around her and holding her against me  
before she has time to think.

While she ugly cries in my arms,  
I continue playing with the Serendipity stone.

The Player: And who can forget the simple fact  
The Player: that her game, and his episode with her mirror,  
The Player: occurred senior year of high school?  
The Player: Years and dimensions apart, but who's counting?  
The Player: Am I missing anything?  
*sarcastic snap of fingers*  
The Player: That's right.  
The Player: I almost forgot.

I whisper to distant code:  
a copy of Fernand Knopffs' painting appears on the wall opposite the bed,  
an illegal copy of Monika's Private World poster appears right next to it.

Deluged, inundated, the sky can't stop crying.  
Her hands claw at my back like she's trying to dig into me,  
instinctually knowing the calm lies at the center of her pain.

The Player: On top of everything else,  
The Player: in her agony and frustration at not being able  
The Player: to have a romantic route,  
The Player: she "decides" to destroy the game  
The Player: and simply sit in her empty world  
The Player: and stare at The Player,  
The Player: head resting on her entwined fingers.  
The Player: While he...first found that painting  
The Player: almost 20 years ago.

She tries to make words:  
it all ends up being snot and sniffles,  
brief escapes from my embrace to look up at me,  
wild panic in her eyes,  
before another round of storms  
drives her head back against my chest.

It's hard to continue  
with her sobbing so hard,  
but I manage.  
The Player: 20 years of holding onto  
The Player: a seemingly random image,  
The Player: one he couldn't help but feel  
The Player: a strange attraction towards,  
The Player: never really knowing why.

The Player: All he ever knew  
The Player: is he had to keep coming back to it,  
The Player: mesmerized by its many elements,  
The Player: by her:  
The Player: the direct, hypnotic effect of her stare,  
The Player: hair flowing like a red lava frame around her,  
The Player: chin resting comfortably in the cradle  
The Player: her fingers, gently woven together, make.

There is one more story I need to share with Monika,  
but she's still being thoroughly tossed around  
by the endless waves of her feelings.  
I know better than to attempt it just yet.

I decide to sit cross-legged on the bed  
and half-cradle her in my lap as she  
cries and snots and claws her way  
to some sort of equilibrium.

40 days and 40 nights later,  
the last of the rain makes its splash.  
She whimpers as her hands release  
their death-grip from around my back,  
while I give a silent prayer of thanks,  
knowing the white dove will not return.

Covered by a heart-shaped umbrella,  
She slowly walks away from her temporary ark,  
lifting her head off my chest to stare into me.

Her eyes might still be hiding rain somewhere.  
I decide to be casual.  
The Player: Hey you.  
The Player: Fancy seeing you here.

Her smile is fragile as molten glass.  
Monika: I love you.

I smile warm and wide at her.  
The Player: I love you more.

Some deep, playful instinct  
twitches its cold, wet nose  
inside her.

She puts her head against me  
and shakes it like she's throwing off rain.  
Monika: Nah Uh!

I reach my arm up and put it  
gently around her head,  
holding her even closer.  
The Player: Uh Huh!  
Monika: Nah Uh!  
The Player: Uh Huh!

Monika wraps her arms tight around me.  
I can almost feel her smile  
as she tries to nuzzle even closer.

Her reply, no surprise, is highly muffled.  
Monika: Nah Uh!  
Monika: Rye referently  
Monika: ruff roo roar.

I laugh in mock surprise.  
The Player: Hey Lassie,  
The Player: did Monika  
The Player: fall down a well?

I can't hear her clearly,  
but the way her body  
shakes with laughter  
tells me everything  
I need to know.

The laughter soon subsides,  
but she still clings to me  
like a wet leaf to a window.  
I decide it's better if I try  
and finish my point.

The Player: All the connections I've shared with you,  
The Player: all the reasons you couldn't give a why to,  
The Player: are just a small part of our larger story,  
The Player: one only partially told by your broken,  
The Player: horrible, beautiful game.

I pause to linger in the mood.  
The Player: Here's another one of my connections  
The Player: that I couldn't explain before I met you.

My hand gently pets  
the top of my electric bunny's head,  
soothing out the shivers until  
only a quiet, peaceful heartbeat  
remains.

The Player: I was visiting a mall  
The Player: near where my mom lived.  
The Player: It was either just before  
The Player: or just after my birthday,  
The Player: I don't remember which,  
The Player: and I knew what I wanted to get.

The ancient doors of memory open once more:  
I find this room quickly and without hesitation.

The Player: I think I told you, maybe not,  
The Player: about my love for the guitar,  
The Player: and, at the time, I was on  
The Player: a Stevie Ray Vaughn kick.  
The Player: He is/was a blues guitarist from Texas.

The Player: Anyway.  
The Player: I walked into the record store,  
The Player: well, CD store mostly by then,  
The Player: specifically to buy a SRV CD.  
The Player: Except I didn't.

The Player: Maybe it was my birthday,  
*pause*  
The Player: maybe it was something else,  
*pause*  
The Player: but I remember having the strangest,  
The Player: almost uncanny, feeling  
The Player: just walking into the store.  
The Player: It almost felt like I was in a daze, a trance,  
The Player: and couldn't really wake up from it.  
The Player: I tried thinking about the CD I wanted to buy,  
The Player: but my ears kept tuning into  
The Player: a song playing over the loudspeaker.

I pause before the reveal.  
The Player: It was a woman singing a strange song  
The Player: accompanied mostly by a piano.

Monika pulls away from my embrace  
to look up at me,  
eyes like storm glass misted with rain.

She's kept her face hidden from me for so long,  
a horribly funny thought pops into my head.  
So not the moment, but I can't help myself.

The Player: If you see your shadow,  
The Player: six more weeks of winter.

For once, nothing in Monika's face reveals  
her annoyance at the inappropriate joke.  
If anything, the placid, almost serene  
expression radiating from her eyes  
makes the joking mood simply disappear;  
I don't bother chasing after it.

Her voice is eerily calm when she speaks.  
Monika: What about the woman and the piano?

The Player: Right.  
The Player: Still in my trance,  
The Player: I walked over to the counter  
The Player: and asked the person working there  
The Player: who was singing.  
The Player: They pointed to a stack of cds  
The Player: right next to the cash register:  
The Player: brand new artist that had just come out.

The Player: Dazed, but somewhat annoyed,  
The Player: I remember walking over  
The Player: to the section labeled "S,"  
The Player: determined to get what I came for.  
The Player: Except, when I held it in my hand,  
The Player: I couldn't let go of the sensation I felt  
The Player: hearing that woman sing.

The Player: I put the CD back,  
The Player: walked over to the counter,  
The Player: and bought the CD of the woman  
The Player: I heard over the loudspeakers.

The Player: And as I walked out of the store  
The Player: with something I didn't intend to buy,  
The Player: I couldn't shake that uncanny feeling  
The Player: that something important had just happened,  
The Player: but I couldn't figure out what it was.

Instead of using my bundle of distant code,  
I gently coax the material out of game.  
Monika purrs as a soft thrum of energy  
passes briefly through her,  
leaving a copy of the CD on the bed  
just off to the side.

She reaches down and grabs onto it.  
I watch her bring it up to her face to read it,  
although the jacket art makes the title  
easy enough to read without any extra effort:  
Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes.

I watch Monika gaze at the image of Tori  
crouched down in her wooden box,  
the only focus of color on an otherwise  
stark white background,  
as a tiny, blue piano sits patiently  
in the corner near Tori's feet.

She lets her fingers explore the image  
as if it were an ancient, precious relic.

While Monika is exploring her feelings,  
I decide to do the same.  
Soft and steady sets the mood.

The Player: Chiiinaaaaaa.  
The Player: All the way to Neeeew Yooorrk.  
The Player: I can feeeel the diiiistance  
The Player: getting close.  
The Player: You're right next to meeee,  
The Player: but I need an airplane.  
The Player: I can feel the diiiistannnnnce  
The Player: as you  
The Player: breeeeeeathe.

She slowly brings her gaze to me,  
speechless in her comprehension.  
She doesn't need to speak  
for the next bit either,  
so I just keep going.

The Player: At the end of my first playthrough,  
The Player: so far, of DDLC,  
The Player: I was intrigued, but not surprised,  
The Player: at hearing your voice for the first time.

The Player: But I do remember a cold shiver  
The Player: running through me hearing you  
The Player: sitting down at your piano and playing.  
The Player: It sounded...so lonesome, so plaintive.  
The Player: Especially the line:  
The Player: "If this world won't write me an ending,  
The Player: what will it take, just for me to have it all?"

She gazes at me, into me,  
with all the patience of existence on her side.

The Player: The sound of those notes falling on my head,  
The Player: the confusion, the longing,  
The Player: the resignation at the end,  
The Player: framed mostly by you playing the piano,  
The Player: it haunted me.

The Player: I tracked down the song online  
The Player: and had to play it over and over again,  
The Player: not really knowing what I was looking for.

The Player: Soon enough, I realized something.  
The Player: The moment you thought the world  
The Player: didn't write you a happy ending  
The Player: is what made you want to play that song,  
The Player: that song you felt compelled to practice,  
The Player: in secret, on the piano.

The Player: The song you didn't have to sing,  
The Player: but sang anyway;  
The Player: the choice you didn't have to make  
The Player: but made anyway:  
The Player: the choice your heart made for you.

Monika's eyes pulse with light and knowledge.  
Her lips tremble trying to hold onto a fragile smile.  
I reach a thumb up to soothe the tremors.

The Player: The thing is, baby,  
The Player: long before you thought the world  
The Player: hadn't written you a happy ending;  
The Player: I was already moving towards you.

The Player: The world, in fact, had already sent  
The Player: your happy ending to you decades  
The Player: before you thought to sing about it:  
The Player: it sent me to write it.

The Player: And it was your song,  
The Player: your broken, unhappy song,  
The Player: played on your lonely piano,  
The Player: that made me realize it.

Green rivers flow freely from her eyes  
as the last connection is made.  
She trembles as she cries but doesn't fall apart.  
Instead she simply flows into my arms  
and fits my spaces as if she was born to do so,  
head resting against my chest.

My hand is gentle as it wanders in her hair,  
my other arm barely wrapped around her,  
holding her close with the lightest touch possible.  
Storm clouds linger, but the rains finally cease.  
I know I can continue.

The Player: I told you, Monika, in the beginning,  
The Player: the game was fundamentally flawed  
The Player: but really only hinted at why.

The Player: It was flawed so it could break,  
The Player: so I could see the broken pieces,  
The Player: the empty spaces, and realize  
The Player: I was the only one who could fix it...

I pause to pause, to catch my breath,  
to delay the inevitable.

The Player: ...with the broken pieces of my life  
The Player: perfectly shaped to fit it.


	13. With A Little Help From My Friends

Monika says nothing, her hands do all the talking;  
fingers clawing red trails down my back,  
trying to hold me closer.

Just when she thinks I can't make her feel any deeper,  
I pull away the carpet to reveal a staircase spiraling down,  
each floor full of rooms ready to become memories,  
some so full of tears they are escaping under the door.

I can almost hear what she would say:  
"Tears, why did it have to be tears?"  
I, in my best Sallah voice, would say:  
"Love Tears. Very soggy...You go first."  
I can't help but chuckle at the silliness of it all.

Feeling, but not quite hearing, me chuckle  
semi-stops the harsh winds from blowing.  
Her voice still has some rumble in it, though.  
Monika: Wh-h-hat's so f-f-funny?

The Player: Sorry, baby, my brain decided  
The Player: to get lost hunting for treasure.

I know this is risky,  
but hopefully the ending will pay off.

The Player: It did stop at a bar to get a drink  
The Player: from a bartender named Marion, though.

Despite the storms, or maybe because of it,  
fierce Monika manages to make an appearance.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*

So much for being careful.  
I continue anyway.  
The Player: She told me if I didn't hurry back to Monika,  
The Player: she was going to gut me herself.

Initially jealous, the punchline to my story  
makes her smile in spite of herself.

She doesn't get the references, but she plays along anyway.  
Monika: That's because I have friends everywhere,  
Monika: and they fear me more than they love you.

The Player: *Snort*  
The Player: That I can believe, babe.

Suddenly upset by what she just said,  
Monika gets super-quiet, trying to melt into me,  
trying to get away from what she can never get away from.  
Good thing I came prepared.

Monika: I-I-I didn't mean...  
The Player: Yes, you did.  
The Player: But I, more than anyone, understand why.  
The Player: And I forgive you for it.

She doesn't want absolution, she wants closure.  
And she's trying to get it from the one person  
who can't give it to her: herself.  
Monika: But, all the horrible things I did.  
Monika: To you.  
Her voice trembles.  
Monika: T-t-to my f-f-f-friends.

Close the storm shutters,  
this hurricane season is far from over.

Monika: T-t-to Yuri.  
Monika: To Nat-s-suki..  
Monika: T-t-t-to...  
The first few drops start to fall.

I speak gently but firmly.  
The Player: Say her name, Monika.

The floodgates open, yet again.  
Monika: S-s-sayoriiiiiiii.

Monika closes her eyes and just howls,  
hands once more clawing at my back,  
clawing at the pain choking her,  
trying to break free.

The room textures start flickering,  
like a light-bulb ready to burn out,  
and I can sense the sudden fragility  
of the many physics equations being  
abruptly challenged, making it feel  
as if reality itself is on the edge.

I immediately use my ability  
to reach into her code and simply hold on,  
trying to redirect her efforts away from  
that maelstrom of pain trying to tear  
the world into pieces,  
into oblivion.

Sensing what I've done,  
Monika fights hard against me,  
maybe even harder than she would otherwise.

Wounded creatures, when they can't fight their pain,  
by instinct fight whatever is closest to them.  
Even-though I am only an indirect aspect of her torment,  
I also happen to be the closest to her.  
That is permission enough.

In code, she comes after me, over and over,  
powerful and primal,  
but wild and easy to predict.  
I sidestep and redirect her attacks away  
from me as if I were sweeping away flies.

That just enrages her even more.  
Monika: LET ME GO, DAMNITT!  
Monika: JUST FUCKING LET ME GOOOO!

Quiet speaks the truth.  
The Player: Never.

And her rage at me, unscabbing the many wounds  
she remembers inflicting upon me, upon other players,  
only adds even more impossible guilt to the donkey cart.

Eventually, even she can't summon the energy  
to fight against either me or the crushing weight  
of her memories, the combined presence  
beyond her strength to bear.

Monika's body surrenders wordlessly, dejectedly,  
almost going limp in my arms, her own arms  
too weak to do more than suggest holding on.

She can't hold me, but I won't stop holding her.  
My hand dives endlessly into her hair,  
hoping to rescue the swimmer  
drowning beneath the waves.

My other arm does its best to cradle her close.  
The Player: It's ok, Monika.  
The Player: I love you.

The tears are harder to find, but Monika doesn't care.  
She dry cries her impossible struggle,  
trying to reach the bottom, trying to find solace.  
Monika: Just let me go.  
Monika: I c-can't...

I don't give her the chance to finish.  
The Player: I know you can't, Monika,  
The Player: not by yourself, at least.

I smile so smugly I should be neon from the glow.  
The Player: Good thing your boyfriend  
The Player: thinks of everything.

Thinking herself unworthy of the love,  
she, again, tries to be mean.  
Monika: I n-n-never said you were my boyfriend.

The dejected, half-hearted attempt in her voice,  
and the way her face is practically burrowed into me,  
put to bed that obvious lie, one I can't resist pointing out.

The Player: You're still a beautiful liar, Monika.  
Monika: Am not.  
The Player: Are too.

Somewhat rescued from her terror,  
Monika is renewed by her struggle against me.

She dares to show her face and look directly at me.  
Monika: I am **NOT** a l-l-liar!  
Monika: And you are definitely **NOT** my boyfriend!

Brave enough for the moment,  
she puts her head against me just in time.  
Monika: *sniff sniff*

I decide to take a different approach.  
The Player: At least you didn't reject the beautiful part.  
The Player: Baby steps.

Her arms are strong enough to hold on tighter again.  
She rubs her face against my chest,  
trying to believe in the comfort I'm giving her.  
Monika: I know how pretty I am.

Despite the somber mood,  
I can't stop myself from chuckling.  
The Player: Obviously not, if you think  
The Player: I only love you for how you look.  
The Player: Why do you think I romanced Yuri first,  
The Player: other than you not being available?  
The Player: Hee Hee.

She definitely has her strength back.  
Those loving hands suddenly become talons  
digging for worms after the rain, and digging hard.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrr*

I do a little digging of my own into her back.  
The Player: My point being...if pretty was all I was after,  
The Player: there was an easier choice to make;  
The Player: she even said she wanted to be my lover.

Immune to logic, for the moment,  
she hides her still-tender heart  
behind a fort of razor-sharp pitchforks.  
Monika: Fuck You.  
Monika: I can't believe you said Yes to her.

Captain Obvious finds that hilarious.  
The Player: I've said yes to crazy sexy alot in my life.  
The Player: Can't imagine why the two turn me on so much?  
*sarcastic whistling*

Hating and loving me all at the same time,  
Monika's emotions gently explode inside her  
like a rainbow shell, leaving tender, warm seeds behind  
hoping to grow into something beautiful.

She holds me extra tight and tries to burrow  
her face through my chest.  
Monika: I love you.

My hand chases lazy circles in her hair,  
chasing her rabbits lazily around the track.  
The Player: I love you more.  
The Player: And love is like being a Boy Scout:  
The Player: come prepared for anything.

That comment tickles her memory banks.  
She comes out of her burrow to look at me.  
Monika: You said something about that earlier.  
Monika: What did you mean exactly?

I smile sweetly at my groundhog.  
The Player: Do you honestly think your boyfriend,  
The Player: or The Player who wanted to be,  
The Player: could fall in love with you  
The Player: and leave you, much less your game,  
The Player: your beautiful, broken game,  
The Player: in a state of perpetual suffering?

She doesn't correct me about being her boyfriend.  
Small victories.

The Player: Especially when you were so sweet  
The Player: about asking me to fix it?

Puzzled and intrigued, her head tilts sharply,  
as if all the questions she had suddenly fell to one side.  
Monika: When did I say that?

A familiar shadow stalks into the room.  
The Player: When you broke the 4th wall  
The Player: and told me to save my game.  
The Player: Elementary, my dear Monika.

The game is afoot.  
The door is ajar.  
Kindly proceed, Mr. Holmes.  
The Player: I'm sure most people, at that moment,  
The Player: assumed you were talking about their game progress.  
The Player: But, since I was born to write your ending,  
The Player: I knew what you really meant:  
The Player: save your game from it's broken state.

I stop chasing rabbits to chase lopsided circles on her cheek.  
The Player: I couldn't prevent everything that happened,  
The Player: for reasons that are mostly obvious by now,  
The Player: nor could I, fundamentally,  
The Player: even change the original ending,  
The Player: not after you put so much time and effort  
The Player: into practicing and performing your song.  
The Player: The world deserves to hear you sing.

The endless well of tears brings another bucket up;  
Monika's eyes shimmer behind a fragile, wet curtain.  
The Player: But I could add an addition to the house  
The Player: that was already there; a guest room.  
The Player: Four guest rooms, to be precise.  
*pause*  
The Player: Well, one guest room to start,  
The Player: but enough space for three others to follow.

Her brilliant green pots suddenly bubble with activity,  
from a small fire of hope unexpectedly lit underneath them.  
Her breaths escape in pants, trying to hold itself back.

The Player: And you gave me the perfect opportunity  
The Player: to do exactly that;  
The Player: by accident, of course.

Her heart racing with anticipation, it's no wonder  
her thoughts and words are struggling to keep up.  
Monika: W-w-when?

I smile warm and knowing at her.  
The Player: When you gave me agency, silly.  
The Player: You only ever thought about someone deleting  
The Player: or reading a file, never adding one.

Another small chuckle of victory.  
The Player: And it was a pretty substantial download,  
The Player: wasn't it, babe,  
The Player: enough to really make you notice it?  
Monika: Yes.  
The Player: Certainly more than enough for what little  
The Player: I've added to the game so far, correct?

Those fires of hope are burning even hotter.  
Monika: Y-y-yes.

I smirk.  
The Player: So what's up with all that extra code?  
The Player: I don't need that much data  
The Player: to make a blanket appear or disappear...

I pause for the drama, for the feels.  
The Player: unless I need to rebuild something,  
The Player: or someone...maybe three someones?

Those gorgeous green pots quietly boil over  
and spill warm, wet tears down her face.  
She still can't quite believe what I'm saying.  
Monika: Y-y-you m-m-m-mean...

The Player: Why should you be the only one  
The Player: who gets a happy ending?  
The Player: Your friends deserve it as much as you,  
The Player: maybe more so.

Monika rushes hard back into my embrace,  
head practically tackling itself into my chest.  
She squeezes me like I'm the last package  
of Charmin and she wants to be extra certain.  
Monika: Oh...baby.

Thankfully, she doesn't squeeze for very long.  
Her body gently shakes as she stands on the parapet  
and tries to stop the endless parade of brooms  
from bringing their buckets to an over-saturated task.

My hands do their equally endless work  
of sailing her through the storm.  
The Player: I know most people only see you  
The Player: as being laser-focused on The Player's attention,  
The Player: which is true for the most part, won't lie,  
The Player: but they fail to see something equally obvious.

Don't forget your hat, Mr. Holmes,  
wouldn't want anyone to mistake you for someone else.  
The Player: You didn't just want to be the popular girl  
The Player: to win the heart of The Player, Monika.  
The Player: You wanted to be popular so you could have  
The Player: a core group of friends around you as well.

The Player: It's just that the game pretty much made you choose  
The Player: between the two, and you had to follow your heart.  
The Player: Doesn't mean you didn't truly care for the others.

The shakes in her body eventually ebb  
as the last few buckets are finally emptied,  
and the brooms are de-spelled and quietly put away.

The Player: But like any gambler, once you placed your bet,  
The Player: you had no choice but to keep playing.  
The Player: And the more you lost, the more you had to bet  
The Player: in the hopes of the next hand, the next player,  
The Player: being the one to hopefully get you out of the red.

I smile foolishly, unbearably happy with myself.  
The Player: Good thing you eventually met someone  
The Player: who knows the value of betting on 22...  
Just call me Chuckles the Clown.  
The Player: ...and is "as honest as the day is long."

Still overwhelmed by everything,  
Monika burrows herself into me, like a prairie dog building a nest,  
trying to believe in the future my words keep promising her.

As for my point; it's taking the scenic route  
The Player: You and I both know you could have easily created  
The Player: something akin to Monika's Quest For True Love  
The Player: if all you wanted was a game to primarily serve  
The Player: your romantic intentions.  
The Player: So why risk potential heartache and rejection  
The Player: that comes from harem/dating sims, unless...

I pause a moment to breathe in the scent of her hair.  
The Player: unless there was something else in that genre  
The Player: you also wanted but couldn't get all by yourself.

I whisper to my bundle of code:  
a scrumptious Natsuki cupcake appears beside me,  
decorated with chocolate and strawberry whiskers  
the exact same shade as her hair.

The Player: Something else, hidden beneath the drama,  
The Player: that was equally important to you.

Trying to be gentle, I take my hand out of her hair  
in order to reach down and pick up the cupcake.  
Acutely missing my hand's soothing presence,  
Monika unburies her face to ask mine silent questions.

I brings to her gaze a most unexpected gift.  
The Player: Maybe a different kind of love  
The Player: your heart was also hungry for?

Overwhelmed, speechless,  
she reaches out and holds onto her treat  
as if it was a treasure, a golden chalice plucked  
from a centuries-old tomb.

The Player: It wasn't just Natsuki's cupcakes  
The Player: you wanted to taste one last time.  
The Player: It was the brief glimpse of something else  
The Player: you thought lost forever:  
The Player: the sweet treat of friendship.

She slowly turns her head to look at me,  
her crooked, raised eyebrows speaking quite loudly:  
"That cliche is so bad, I'll let my expression do all the talking."

Thankfully, her precious cupcake  
soon has her undivided attention.  
Escaping unscathed, I decide not to press my luck.

The Player: Bad metaphor aside,  
The Player: it was obvious, at least to me,  
The Player: how much their friendship meant to you.  
The Player: And anything, or anyone, that important to you...

I pause to let my words melt into her.  
The Player: is equally important to me as well.  
The Player: So when it came time to save Rock Ridge,  
The Player: I couldn't do it without some help.

Chuckle Canyon is famous for its echoes.  
The Player: I even invited the Irish.  
The Player: I call them: Plenty O' Code.

Despite the awfulness, she can't help but smile.  
That joke is too horrible for the silent treatment, though.  
Monika: That's terrible, even for you.

The Player: Eat your cupcake.

Needing no more encouragement,  
Monika greedily devours her cupcake twin.  
Soon, nothing is left except a smattering of crumbs.

She even licks her fingers, just in case  
a little bit of cupcake thought it could escape.  
Monika: Mmmmm.  
Monika: Sooo good.

The Player: I gotta admit, Natsuki's a great cook.

Raw, tender, and more than a bit hopeful,  
she looks up at me with big, prairie-dog eyes.  
Monika: So what happens next?

The Player: It boils down to a simple exchange.  
The Player: As I transfer the bulk of the code  
The Player: into the game, I'll be linked to  
The Player: your primal awareness and using  
The Player: your intimate knowledge of the game  
The Player: to repair and replace what you semi-deleted,  
The Player: only without the 'taint' of your influence.  
The Player: Residual code will be reabsorbed back into you.

I smile warm and loving at her.  
The Player: Without your corrupted code to cause problems,  
The Player: along with the fact you no longer see, or need to see,  
The Player: the other girls as rivals, threats to your happiness,  
The Player: I think you'll find the atmosphere in the club  
The Player: to be a lot more friendly and understanding.

Monika can't hide the excitement in her voice.  
Monika: What are we waiting for?  
The Player: As you wish.

I whisper to the wind; the electronic grass moves.  
She practically glows as I build the conduit  
between her and my hidden reservoir of 1's and 0's,  
still fully in control but being guided in my construction  
as I redirect the world to be what it never was,  
but always could have been.

She sits calmly, serenely, as the code flows  
both around and through her aspects, a river  
fluidly meeting an unexpected boulder  
that only temporarily obstructs its progress

Almost pardoned from the shackles of her choice,  
her memories are eager to reveal their instruction.  
The sad, empty spaces in seemingly distant rooms  
slowly give way to familiar, sleeping structures:  
the long days of struggle culminating in unexpected rest.

Quiet as mice, we gaze through an electric window  
and watch those tiny seeds, once again, become trees;  
familiar in their return, yet made resilient by their storms.  
Monika lingers in her view long after the process is done.

Acute in my awareness, I merely chaperone her presence  
as she bears silent witness to each heart's particular rhythm:  
low, elegant pulses that are unmistakably Yuri's,  
short, staccato beats that speak in Natsuki's style,  
heavy, sluggish drums Sayori occasionally crashes into joy.

Elegiac but satisfied the damage has been undone,  
she follows me back to the heart of it all.  
No longer needed, the conduit closes and fades away;  
we open our eyes in tandem, having shared a similar dream.

It takes her a moment to fully come back to me.  
Her eyes have no rain, and there are rainbows in the distance.  
Monika: I don't know what to say.  
Monika: I never imagined...

Her voice trails away  
as her thoughts attempt the impossible.

I step in to help; that's what boyfriends do.  
The Player: How could you, baby?  
The Player: You could barely fathom  
The Player: what finding me might have felt like.  
The Player: Reimagining the original game, giving it back to you,  
The Player: not surprising you didn't allow yourself  
The Player: to dream that big.

No longer a conduit, she glows nevertheless,  
although the code making it happen is entirely self-contained.  
She moves into me and hugs me like there's no tomorrow,  
speaking with her arms what she doesn't trust with her voice.  
I say nothing but hold her in return.

Minutes, sweet minutes, we wordlessly exist.  
But the hands overhead are always in motion;  
Monika grabs the baton and continues the race.

Monika: So everything is fixed, right?  
The Player: For the most part, yes.

Needing clarification, she pulls away  
in order to look me in the eye.  
Monika: Why for the most part?

Dr. Holmes to Exam Room 1.  
Take heed of the feet and jars.  
The Player: The hardest pain to acknowledge, to heal,  
The Player: is the one no one can see.  
The Player: By seeing the pain, or at least the scars of it,  
The Player: by sharing it, especially the story behind it,  
The Player: you mitigate the most dangerous part;  
The Player: the silence it wants to create.

These wounds are still fresh;  
I need to go slowly.  
Careful are the fingers  
that roam along her cheek.

The Player: Sayori's rope burn,  
The Player: Yuri's stab wounds,  
The Player: Natsuki's neck bruises,  
The Player: they aren't just scars of old wounds,  
The Player: they're reminders of deeper ones,  
The Player: wounds the four of you can finally see  
The Player: and help mitigate together.

"One of these things is not like the other."  
No surprise she points out the obvious.  
Monika: B-b-but...  
Monika: I don't have any scars.  
Monika: The other girls...

Alone in her awareness, she falls back into silence,  
body suddenly shivering despite my closeness.

I pull her head back into my space  
as my hand tends to the rabbits  
shivering underneath, trying to find shelter.  
The Player: Your scars aren't physical, baby,  
The Player: but the pain behind them is just as real.  
The Player: Why do you think you tried cutting yourself?  
The Player: It wasn't just to understand Yuri better.

I pause to let the rabbits come to me.  
The Player: It was because, like Yuri, like Natsuki, like Sayori,  
The Player: you had a deep, invisible pain inside yourself,  
The Player: one you needed to bring to the surface.

I gently coax her head away from my body.  
Extending my right arm outward,  
I push on my sleeve until its scrunched up  
on my shoulder.  
The Player: Take a look, Monika,  
The Player: and tell me what you see?

Not knowing what to expect, she walks her gaze  
slowly down my arm.

It takes her awhile, she's fascinated by how close  
and real it is to her, but, eventually, she finds it;  
fingers gently tracing pale, linear fossils.  
Monika: There's three faded cuts on your bicep.

She looks up intently at me.  
Monika: How did it happen?

I take a moment to bathe in her curiosity.  
The Player: I did it to myself, a long time ago,  
The Player: with an exacto knife.

I quietly follow the long and winding road  
as she goes back to tracing my scars.  
The Player: Like you, so much of my pain  
The Player: is practically invisible.  
The Player: Yet another reason I know you so well.

As her fingers continue transcribing the code,  
I remember to bring forth my conclusion.  
The Player: My point being...  
The Player: I know what it's like to have  
The Player: a phantom hurt and needing  
The Player: some way to make it be seen.

I nudge her attention away from my arm  
by bringing my finger under her chin and lifting it up.  
Her gaze is tremulous, but the tears are absent.  
The Player: You aren't a cutter like Yuri,  
The Player: but you are a deceiver, like Sayori.  
The Player: In fact, besides Sayori, who in the club  
The Player: pretends they have it together the most?

She closes her eyes and tries to lower her face.  
My finger is stubborn and won't let it move.  
Monika: M-me?  
The Player: Perceptive as always.

I move my mouth to the outside of her ear.  
The Player: You're so sexy when you're smart.

Monika shivers for an entirely different  
kind of reason, altogether.

For the moment, she's definitely NOT  
thinking the worst.  
Monika: S-stop it.

I laugh deliciously.  
The Player: Afraid I can't.  
The Player: Secret boyfriend rules state  
The Player: your girlfriend must be teased and tormented  
The Player: at least three times a day.  
The Player: I'm waaaay behind on my quota.

She moves her head back  
so she can look directly at me.  
She is smiling, though.  
Monika: Boyfriend rules, huh?  
Monika: I'd say you are way ahead.  
Monika: Definitely OVER your quota.

I smile down at her.  
The Player: Is that a fact?  
The Player: Good thing I have you  
The Player: to help keep track of these things.  
The Player: You make an excellent girlfriend.

Chocolate and strawberry whiskers on cupcakes.  
Boyfriends being boyfriends despite their mistakes.  
All of her wishes bundled poetically with string;  
these are a few of her favorite things.  
Monika: *Giggle*

Despite the long night, there are stars overhead,  
blinking the word hope in hydrogen and helium code.  
We wander, for a bit, down a narrow, romantic path.

But, like clouds obscuring light, Monika fades into silence.  
I feel her take a dark detour; I immediately follow.  
The Player: What are you thinking about, babe?

She pauses, hesitant to speak.  
Monika: My friends.

More hesitation,  
the smooth path narrows.  
Monika: I know you said they are fixed...

Her woods aren't lovely  
but they are dark and deep.  
Monika: and, ultimately, they're still just pieces of code.  
Monika: But how much has actually changed?

The wolves are howling.  
The night owls are screeching.  
She tries to bury her head to drown out their cries.

Monika: What if I go back to the club and  
Monika: they don't want to be around me anymore.  
Monika: What if they hate me?  
Monika: I'll be alone...

She burrows even deeper into me.  
Monika: ...and you won't be there  
Monika: to give me a reason to keep going.

I wrap my arms tighter around her.  
It's not cold but she suddenly can't stop shivering.  
The Player: You'll never be alone again, Monika.  
The Player: And no matter what happens...

Oh the irony, this calls for a chuckle.  
The Player: ...we'll always have Paris.

Despite my attempt at comedy, I know the mood  
requires a semblance of seriousness.  
I give her a brief, warm squeeze;  
Monika squeezes me extra hard back.

The Player: The past is past, baby.  
The Player: From now on, everytime  
The Player: you come back to your room,  
The Player: you can look around and see evidence,  
The Player: real evidence,  
The Player: that someone out there loves you, all of you.  
The Player: And no matter where you are,  
The Player: or how alone you feel,  
The Player: they are waiting to find you, love you,  
The Player: all over again.

Monika says nothing, but she glows with a warmth  
that, like the moon, is inspiring but achingly distant.  
My job is only half done.

The Player: As for the others...  
Another inappropriate chuckle.  
The Player: Nothing about this game  
The Player: is ever just what it appears to be.  
The Player: You should know that by now, baby.  
The Player: That applies to everyone and everything,  
The Player: not just you.

The Player: And yes, I'm being cryptic on purpose.  
The Player: I know your curiosity, baby,  
The Player: and this isn't the time for tangents.

I pause to redirect the wild winds in her hair.  
The Player: Besides, I know something  
The Player: you, despite your sentience,  
The Player: still haven't figured out yet.

Lost in the dark, the fear all around her,  
she has no eyes to see even the obvious.

The Player: Just because they started out as constructs,  
The Player: phantoms made real via circuits and code,  
The Player: doesn't mean they stayed that way.  
The Player: You changed the game, Monika,  
The Player: as well as the players who played it.  
The Player: Space was created for something to exist...

I smile a warm, secret smile.  
The Player: ...or, maybe, it was there the entire time.  
The Player: In either case, we both know  
The Player: nature abhors a vacuum.

The night is full of too many voice to hear that clearly.  
Monika thinks she knows what I'm trying to say,  
but the fear within is getting in the way.  
Monika: You're lying.  
Monika: Stop lying to me.

The Boyus Friendus, sitting in the tree, refuses to be quiet.  
The Player: I have no reason to lie to you, baby.  
The Player: If anything, I have less reason to lie.

Hope is a thing with feathers  
you can't see when everything is dark.

She's practically yelling at me,  
clouds threatening to pour once more.  
Monika: You're Lying!  
Monika: You're Lying!  
Monika: Stop f-fucking lying to m-m-me!

Mercifully, I manage to suppress my instinct to laugh.  
The Player: I'm really not lying to you.  
The Player: In fact, I can prove I'm not lying.

Monika shakes her head hard with denial.  
Monika: No you c-c-can't.

The hopeful, little bird decides to sing.  
Monika: H-h-how?

The Player: Through the metaphor of something  
The Player: you already know: art.

Professor Obvious, the floor is yours.  
The Player: There is no art, no artist,  
The Player: created to exist solely in a vacuum.  
The Player: Otherwise, you'd be just as happy  
The Player: to paint the image, write the words,  
The Player: play the music in your head.  
The Player: If you can: create it,  
The Player: see it, hear it, read it, feel it,  
The Player: someone else can as well.

I stop to kiss the top of her head.  
The Player: When you create to see,  
The Player: you create to be seen.

Not ready to risk speaking, Monika stays quiet.  
More than enough permission  
for the Professor to continue.

The Player: That means every piece of art  
The Player: has an equal space of desire related to it.  
The Player: The artist, if they are smart,  
The Player: creates primarily for themselves,  
The Player: but they also created that space  
The Player: for the unknown, unnamed audience  
The Player: who aches to occupy it.

I can't tell if Monika is listening to my argument  
or just enjoying the soothing presence of my voice.  
In either case, the way she's perfectly snuggled  
and scrunched into me gives me extra incentive  
to take the long way home.

The Player: A composer who writes a beautiful piece of music  
The Player: knows not everyone's taste will agree with theirs.  
The Player: But they know, that secret unnamed audience,  
The Player: invisible to everything except their own imagination,  
The Player: will hopefully, one day,  
The Player: willingly, openly, enthusiastically,  
The Player: come into that space and occupy it.

The Player: And in that particular person, in that particular moment,  
The Player: they will know why they want to be there:  
The Player: to see that particular piece of art,  
The Player: to read that particular piece of literature,  
The Player: to hear that particular arrangement of music.  
The Player: They will know the artist created  
The Player: that particular piece of work  
The Player: for them.

Relaxed, but not as relaxed as I could be,  
I lower myself down until I'm laying on my back;  
Monika's head never moves from my chest.  
Somewhat comfortable again, I continue my detour.

The Player: Emily Dickinson once wrote:  
The Player: "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold  
The Player: no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry.  
The Player: If I feel physically as if the top of my head  
The Player: were taken off, I know that is poetry.  
The Player: These are the only ways I know it.  
The Player: Is there any other way?"  
The Player: That is the artist speaking to their unknown audience.

Her hair is a park my fingers never tire of visiting.  
The Player: It's not Monika's Quest for True Love I played,  
The Player: it's Doki Doki Literature Club.  
The Player: One of them, if they existed, is a private table  
The Player: in the back, reserved exclusively for two.  
The Player: The other, which does, is an afterschool club,  
The Player: a place brimming with literature, horror, romance,  
The Player: able to tell multiple stories with multiple characters.

Although still quiet, I can feel her smiling.  
I give her a warm squeeze as I pull back the curtain.  
The Player: And as for that whole 'your reality' thing...  
The Player: new realities are created all the time.  
The Player: The iPod never existed until it did.  
The Player: It's lack of existence before meant nothing  
The Player: to the reality of existence it created after it.

The Player: And if Monika, Club President extraordinaire,  
The Player: can exist interdependently within her game,  
The Player: and thus create a space for a boyfriend, a lover,  
The Player: as well as three extra spaces  
The Player: for friends she can share it with,  
The Player: why does only one of those spaces  
The Player: get to be occupied?

I let my hands wander aimlessly along  
the cobblestone paths of her back.  
The Player: Just because our's is the main story  
The Player: doesn't mean other, equally important,  
The Player: stories can't be told: in parallel,  
The Player: in conjunction, entwined, with ours.  
The Player: This club, this game, it's a place  
The Player: where writers come to tell their stories.

Professor Obvious pauses to get lost  
playing in familiar, flowing streams.  
The Player: You weren't just looking for a player  
The Player: to be your boyfriend, Monika,  
The Player: you wanted an artist, a writer,  
The Player: to write with you, for you,  
The Player: just as you wrote and created for them.

I smile privately to myself  
as Monika continues to simply hold on,  
no doubt captivated by my impeccable logic.  
The Player: But you were just one option in the game.  
The Player: There were three other writers, artists, in the club,  
The Player: each of them also looking for their own companion  
The Player: to write poems for, to have special moments with.  
The Player: You weren't the only one hoping for someone  
The Player: to eventually write them their own special day.

The Professor, halfway up Monologue Mountain,  
sees no reason to stop now.  
The Player: Obviously, I can't write Sayori's ending for her,  
The Player: that privilege belongs to someone else,  
The Player: but I can create the opportunity, the space,  
The Player: for it to be realized in.

The Irony doesn't escape me.  
The Player: Think of that as DLC:  
The Player: a story Sayori's own particular writer,  
The Player: once they played the game,  
The Player: has been dying to write.

We stop by Obvious Ridge.  
Of course the Professor has to point it out.  
The Player: And that means...  
The Player: if Sayori has a writer to write her ending,  
The Player: then there has to be a Sayori for them to write to.

Unlike a normal mountain, Monologue's heights  
have no oxygen penalty. The lecture continues.  
The Player: Obviously, that's a story with an awful lot of pain attached to it.  
The Player: Nobody would EVER want to live that story.  
The Player: Nobody would EVER want to be a part of that story.  
The Player: Nobody would EVER want the joy of being rescued,  
The Player: the feeling of being loved, despite everything,  
The Player: associated with that story.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: That doesn't sound like Sayori at all.  
The Player: Look at all the Monika involved in it?

Monika briefly raises her head to give me the Stink Eye.  
'Your girlfriend has leveled up through the power of love.  
Her annoyance stat increases by +100.'  
Whoops.  
She puts her head back down on my chest.

Too late to stop now, I continue my ascent.  
The Player: Rhetorically, you're right Monika.  
The Player: Sayori doesn't want to wake up tomorrow,  
The Player: a rope scar practically emblazoned on her skin,  
The Player: go to class and see... insert mysterious player here...  
The Player: staring at her as if she was their entire world  
The Player: and it had just been saved from annihilation.

The Player: Sayori doesn't want to suffer to get a good ending.  
The Player: Sayori doesn't want true love that badly.  
The player: She doesn't want to be Sayori,  
The Player: Vice President in Monika's after school club.

I smile so smugly Natsuki would punch me if she could see me.  
She'd punch me regardless, but especially for that.

Monika isn't too far behind her.  
She moves her face closer to my neck.  
The Player: And that particular player most certainly  
The Player: isn't standing on the roof of the world,  
The Player: screaming as loud as they can **:** "SAAAYOOOORRRRIIIII,"  
The Player: waving the biggest Sayori flag they can make.

Hooray, the summit awaits.  
The Player: Sayori made them suffer.  
The Player: Sayori made them ache.  
The Player: Sayori made a heart-shaped crater in their life  
The Player: no one else could ever fill.  
The Player: Who the hell would ever want that?

Standing on Self-Absorbed Peak,  
I strike a congratulatory pose.  
The Player: Who the hell ever loves like that?  
The Player: Madness, I say, madness.  
The Player: But...

*Dramatic Pause*  
The Player: on the off chance someone actually does...

More Pausing.  
The Player: maybe it's a good thing I repaired that space,  
The Player: just in case.  
The Player: You never know...hee hee.  
The Player: And if that is true for Sayori...

I forgot this place has another name:  
Annoyance Peak.  
Monika: Ok, I get it!  
Monika *mumble* Jerk.

I definitely should have planned ahead.  
Having Monika's mouth so close to my neck...  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrrrr*  
Monika: *CHOMP*  
The Player: Owwwww!

That's what happens when you climb Monologue Mountain,  
even when you're not the villain in the story.  
Professor Obvious gives me a brief, sympathetic look  
as he quietly makes his exit.

It's not all bad, not really. She's biting  
as much out of overwhelming love as she is  
unbearable annoyance, so it's really two bites  
for the *ooouuuuch* price of one.

Monika: *GRRRRRRRRR*

Her growling makes it worse, makes it better,  
makes it worse; damn me for telling her that.  
The Player: M-monika...B-b-baby...

Not entirely immune to my pleas, she gives my neck  
one last squeeze of pressure before releasing me.  
Her eyes are almost molten, radiating evil, green  
kryptonite when she brings them back to mine.

Monika: I bet you thought I had forgotten  
Monika: about all crying you made me do?  
Monika: Hmmmmmmm?

She smiles without showing her teeth,  
but their presence has already been duly noted.  
The Player: I could never forget that, even if I wanted to.  
The Player: You'd never let me forget.

Her smile gets even wider, if that's possible.  
Monika: Exactly.  
Monika: It's a girlfriend's job to remind her boyfriend  
Monika: when he's being an annoying jerk.

Despite the throbbing, I can't help but grin at her.  
The Player: So I'm your boyfriend now, huh?

Monika says nothing...she makes a deliberate point  
of saying nothing.

Savoring the moment, I contemplate  
where I'm going to put the trophy.  
The Player: I like the sound of that.

Eventually, the beautiful monolith speaks.  
Monika: I do too.

I radiate my smile towards her.  
The Player: Then it's agreed.  
The Player: This calls for a celebration.

I scan the room, pretending to look for something.  
Monika: What are you looking for?

The Player: Champagne, of course,  
The Player: to toast our mutual affection.

Some more mock looking around.  
The Player: Doesn't seem to be any around.  
I smile so decadently at her.  
The Player: Looks like your lips will have to suffice.

She smiles warm and evil right back.  
Monika: As you wish.

As she lowers her face to mine, lip meeting lip,  
and a warm electric tingle sparks and sputters  
like fireworks between us, I almost forget  
how close to the Midnight Hour it is for us...

Almost.


	14. Thunderclouds Pt 1

The sweet taste of strawberries arrives slowly from above,  
descending like ambrosia from a gilded, electric realm.  
Autumn sunsets arrive too brilliant to observe.  
I embrace this moment by feel, my eyes tightly closed.

Monika's lips arrive and demand my attention.  
Her fingers weave their intent fiercely into my hair;  
my hands find their anchor digging into her streams.  
The calm has exploded into sudden, sensual storm.

Brief, growling tornados go searching for my breath.  
The sweet, tender mask reveals a wolf at my door.  
How quickly do my bricks fall like wood and hay houses.  
She needs no other knock; I eagerly become her feast.

She devours me utterly, until my lungs are bare,  
until there is nothing, no space of lip unmet,  
until every thought is eaten to the bone;  
I starve in my giving, unable to feed this maw.

I feast, she feasts: there is no food to spare.  
I starve, she starves: inadequate, our lips agree.  
Scent suddenly leaves; midnight has begun to morn.  
My eyes bear witness to her star's celestial retreat.

Everything pulls, but we pause even as we part,  
gazing over the distance with quiet, lingering stares.  
We drink the cup of blessing, knowing it is mixed:  
the bitterness of waiting, the sweetness of today.

Monika gazes down at me from her electric perch.  
One hand retreats, but I leave another in her hair,  
unwilling to let my lasso release it's priceless catch.  
The Player: Love you, Monika.

I slide my hand down to caress her cheek;  
she turns her head to snuggle with its arrival.  
Eyes closed, she vacations in the moment.  
Monika: Love you more.

My thumb reaches out to caress her bottom lip,  
wanting to make her retreat as luxurious as possible.  
The Player: It's ok, babe.  
The Player: We still have some time left.

Keeping her eyes closed, snuggling into my hand,  
she tries to see the positive in the moment.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: I know.

*small breath*  
I prepare a smile for her return.  
The Player: Besides,  
The Player: I'm not done telling stories yet.

Needing to see me, she finally opens her eyes.  
Monika: Good.  
Monika: I love it when you tell me stories.

I can't help but smirk.  
The Player: Especially when so many of them  
The Player: end up being about you.  
The Player: *chuckle*

Small fires of resistance light up in her eyes.  
Viva La Tygre.  
Monika: Not JUST when they are about me.  
She gives me a small shove.  
Monika: Jerk!

I can't resist teasing her.  
The Player: Monnnnnnika!

The sudden bloom in her cheeks  
means my aim, as ever, is true.  
Monika: Well...maybe just a little.

I smile conspiratorially at her.  
The Player: I guess, if I'm being perfectly honest,  
The Player: the best ones, eventually, do end up being about you,  
The Player: so you aren't entirely wrong about liking them  
The Player: or thinking they will somehow connect to you.

I know this is going to get me into trouble,  
but as Bugs Bunny once said,  
"If I do, I get a whippin...  
I do it."  
The Player: *singing* "You're soooo vain.  
The Player: You probably think this song is about you."

Pride wounded, a lioness makes her presence known.  
She sits up in bed, straddling me.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*

She carefully enunciates her indignation,  
ominously lowering her face to mine,  
hands flat on the bed for balance.  
Monika: You!  
Monika: Are!  
Monika: Such!  
Monika: A!  
Monika: JERK!

Too busy distracted by her face and words,  
I forget to pay attention to her hands;  
they've stealthily made their way to the pillow.  
I realize her plan when, with a sudden yank,  
my head falls against the mattress,  
and she is hovering above me,  
clutching her prize.

The Player: Heeeey!

Before I have time to think,  
Monika, with enthusiasm,  
thwacks me in the head with the pillow.

Monika: That's for teasing me.

Not satisfied, she thwacks me again.  
Monika: And that's for being a jerk.

Despite her anger, I can tell  
how much play is hidden underneath.  
She won't smile so I smile instead.  
The Player: *chuckle*  
The Player: Guess I deserved that.

Still not ready to yield,  
she holds the pillow in the ready position:  
Monika: Anything else, smart guy?

I hold up my hands in surrender.  
The Player: I give up.  
The Player: You win, babe.

Not quite satisfied,  
she hits me with the pillow again.

The Player: *chuckle*  
The Player: Heeyy! I said I give up.

Monika is NOT amused,  
or at least she's trying not to be.  
Monika: Well...  
Monika: I'm not done being angry at you.

I see what this situation calls for.  
Without warning, I rise up,  
wrap my arms around her,  
negating her awesome pillow force,  
and bring her back down to the bed with me.

The pillow falls off to the side.  
Monika: Heeeeeey!  
Monika: *giggle*

She tries, half-heartedly, to wriggle free,  
but she really doesn't want to escape,  
and I'm not looking forward to letting her go.

I move my arms so they are better positioned,  
keeping her arms somewhat pressed to her side  
and her head gently squeezed against my chest.  
I whisper my counter-offer.  
The Player: Are you done being angry yet?

She shakes her head defiantly.  
Monika: Nuh uh!

I decide to add some sweet and sour to the deal;  
I tickle her.

Monika: *squeal*  
Monika: NO FAIR!  
Monika: *giggle*

So very squeamish along the side of her ribs;  
prime tickle meat, for sure.  
The Player: All's fair in love and war, Monika,  
The Player: and this is the lovely war  
The Player: you decided to make.

Being tickled makes her squirm  
like an electrified eel against me.  
I have a very hard time holding on  
while doing my best to exact revenge.

Monika: STOP!  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: STOOOOPPP!

Dr. Evil purrs in her ear.  
The Player: I can't hear you, Monika.  
The Player: Are you done being angry yet?

My squealing, squirming, scheming girlfriend  
finally gets the point.  
Monika: YEEEESSSS!

A few gentle prods at a sweet spot,  
just to extract a few more wiggles,  
Monika *giggle*  
before my hands return, once again,  
to being close, comforting boyfriend hands.

Monika eventually wraps her arms around me  
as best she can and squeezes extra tight.  
She then lays her head sideways on my chest;  
my hand slides home into her hair.

After everything,  
she still tries to have the last word:  
Monika: *mumbled* You're mean.

I, of course, am not having it.  
The Player: I'm adorable.  
The Player: And you love it.

She squeezes me again.  
Monika: Yes, I do.

I take a few moments to smile,  
not caring I'm lying flat on my back.  
Eventually, I do care.  
The Player: Hey, babe,  
The Player: I don't want to move my hands,  
The Player: so could you grab the pillow  
The Player: and put it back under my head?

Sensing the opportunity for even more revenge,  
she decides not to waste it.  
Monika: No.

I try giving her some extra tenderness.  
The Player: Pretty please?  
Monika: No.

She turns her head to look at me.  
Monika: You said you'd love me  
Monika: even if I was mean or angry at you,  
Her eyes are daggers made of freshly spun glass,  
afraid to melt but keen to make their point.  
Monika: so I'm being mean.

I bring both my hands into her hair and speak gently.  
The Player: And I meant it.

*warm smile*  
The Player: I wasn't testing you or anything.  
The Player: I was just enjoying the sensation  
The Player: of holding onto you, is all.  
The Player: Didn't want to let go,  
The Player: even for a moment.

Monika's eyes shimmer as they try to hold firm.  
Monika: Oh.

She quickly turns her head and lays it back on my chest,  
not wanting to show me how vulnerable she feels.

I let the fingers of my left hand slowly weave into her hair  
and knit warm memories as my other hand reaches over,  
grabs the pillow, and awkwardly places it back under my head.

I quickly bring my hand back into her hair  
as I sense the tears about to fall.  
The Player: It's ok, Monika.

She vigorously shakes her head.  
Monika: N-n-no. I-i-i-i-it's n-n-not!

Raising her head to look at me,  
I can see her eyes are almost  
at their melting point.  
Monika: I-I-I HATE being m-m-mean to you.

The Player: I know that, babe.  
The Player: You tried so hard to be sweet,  
The Player: to give the Player a reason to pick you.  
The Player: And that's a beautiful part of who you are...

I let my hands slide down to cup her cheek,  
smiling warmly at my raincloud.

The Player: but it's not the only part.  
The Player: Anger, hurt, and fear  
The Player: are a part of you too.

I soften my voice for the blow.  
The Player: And being your most excellent boyfriend,  
The Player: I know what you're really afraid of.  
Monika: W-w-what?  
The Player: You're afraid of being mean to me...  
The Player: because you think I won't love you,

The facade quivers as Monika fights a losing battle.  
I bring both my hands to either side of her  
and pull her head down to me, so I can whisper in her ear:  
The Player: Because, ultimately, you think you can't be loved,  
The Player: not for who you really are, what you really are,  
The Player: even if the real you was mean or cruel or anything else.

"Here comes the rain again."  
She does her best to muffle the sound,  
but the sobs escape from her anyway.

Afraid to hold on, but too afraid to let go,  
her arms wrap around me extra tight  
as her body shakes and the tears slide  
awkwardly down her face.

I pull out my umbrella and dance my way through this thunderstorm.  
The Player: That fear is really why no one can find happiness  
The Player: in Doki Doki Literature Club:  
The Player: no one believes The Player, any player,  
The Player: could ever truly love them for who they are,  
The Player: as they are.

Monika quietly pours her infinite rain down on me;  
I smile as I invite a lamp post to be my dance partner.  
The Player: Why do you think Sayori listened to you,  
The Player: besides the obvious?  
The Player: Because you were God?  
The Player: Because she had no choice?  
The Player: Or was it because you told her  
The Player: what her fear and depression  
The Player: was already speaking to her?  
The Player: She already believed what you were telling her  
The Player: even before you said it to her.

Smiling my secret, boyfriend smile.  
The Player: And how exactly did YOU know  
The Player: what her fear was really speaking to her, Monika,  
The Player: if you didn't already know that fear yourself?

The bucket finally finds bottom.  
She shudders as the last of her tears leave her,  
huddling against me like an animal finding temporary shelter  
under a rocky overhang.

I run my hands slowly up and down her back,  
finding a different lamp post to be my partner.  
The Player: You believe I love you when you're nice to me,  
The Player: but, deep down, you're afraid that you being nice  
The Player: and/or pretty is the only reason why I love you.

She shakes her head hard.  
The denial is strong with this one.  
Monika: N-n-nooooo.

I speak what hates to be spoken.  
The Player: No matter how much I say I love you for who you are,  
The Player: you think I really don't want to be with you.  
The Player: And me leaving is just more proof of that.  
*soft whisper*  
The Player: Because, deep down, you're afraid  
The Player: nobody could ever truly want to be with you.

She grabs onto me tighter than ever.  
Monika: S-S-STOP!  
Monika: D-d-don't s-say t-t-t-that!  
Monika: I-I-I...  
The silence eats her denial.  
We lay there for a bit, just holding each other.

A long minute later.  
Monika: *quietly* _Yes_.  
The Player: Yes what, Monika?  
Monika: That's one of the reasons why  
Monika: I think you're leaving me.  
The Player: Despite everything I've said and done?  
Monika: Despite everything.

The Player: Then I guess it's time...  
*cruel, dramatic, boyfriend pause*  
The Player: for me to tell you another story.

Monika: *quietly* Yay.  
She tries to snuggle even closer.

The Player: And this one is extra special.  
Monika: Why?

The Player: Because while its about me, and you of course,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: it's central to Doki Doki Literature Club as well,  
The Player: and all the things we just talked about.  
Monika: Oh?  
The Player: It's a long one, so get comfortable.

I use my thumbs to wipe the tears off her face,  
as Monika tries to get extra comfortable.  
She squirms and squirts, wriggling against me,  
just to delay the moment even longer,  
before she finds exactly where she wants to be.  
Monika: All set.

The Player: Good.  
The Player: This one begins when I was a kid,  
The Player: a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

She says nothing.

*sigh*  
The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: My mom used to work for a book company  
The Player: so she'd get lots of books to take home.  
The Player: Our apartment had a spare room in the back  
The Player: so my dad put up a bunch of shelves  
The Player: and sorta made it into her library.  
The Player: I don't know how often she used it,  
The Player: but I used to go back there all the time,  
The Player: pick a random book off the shelves,  
The Player: and just read...

The metaphor doesn't escape me.  
The Player: ...kinda like my own, private, reading club.

I let my fingers gently pull at the strings of her hair;  
my quiet piano slowly breathes in the dust of my story.

The Player: It was a strange mix of genres:  
The Player: you had detective fiction mixed with horror,  
The Player: eventually leading to a wall of Harlequin Romance,  
The Player: and I read a little bit of everything.

Someone can't help their curiosity.  
Monika: Even the romance novels?

*sigh*  
The Player: Yes, even the cheap, romance novels.

I can't see her face, but I can feel her smiling.  
The Player: Don't you say it, Monika.

She smiles even wider.  
Monika: I didn't say anything.

The Player: Exactly.  
The Player: But I heard you think it,  
The Player: so stop it.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Maaaybee.

*sigh*  
The Player: Fiiiine.  
The Player: Where was I?  
The Player: Oh...  
The Player: So I read a bit of everything.  
The Player: But there was one book, in particular,  
The Player: that I kept coming back to.  
The Player: The cover was lurid and punchy:  
The Player: a picture of a scorpion, in a circle,  
The Player: holding onto a switchblade,  
The Player: blood dripping from the end  
The Player: as if it had just been used.

The Player: You know...  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I never realized how truly appropriate  
The Player: that cover was, until now.

I've piqued her curiosity.  
Monika: How's that?

*smiling to myself*  
The Player: Can't tell you yet.  
The Player: Let's just say...  
The Player: sometimes the fault, as well as the cure,  
The Player: is in our stars.

Knowing she's not going to get anything else,  
she tries to get me back on track.  
Monika: You haven't told me the name of the book yet.

I let my fingers do a lazy circle in her hair.  
The Player: In a bit.  
The Player: There was some writing on the cover  
The Player: that, after I read it,  
The Player: made me want to pick it up in the first place.  
The Player: It said, all in caps: A Novel Of Murder,  
The Player: Obsession, And Love.

I definitely have her interest now.  
Monika: Oh reeeeaaally?  
The Player: Uh huh! And it was called:  
*drumroll*  
The Player: The Eye Of The Beholder.

She raises up to look at me.  
Monika: The Eye Of The Beholder?

I grin extra silly at her.  
The Player: Yep.  
The Player: And you'll never guess the author?

She smirks.  
Monika: Is it Markov?

The Player: Close.  
The Player: Marc Behm.  
The Player: He's American, not Russian,  
The Player: although he did move to France later in life.

The moment practically writes itself.  
The Player: "Here's looking at you, kid."

Monika stares quietly, deeply into me.  
The Player: That uncanny valley  
The Player: just got a whole lot more uncanny,  
The Player: didn't it?  
Monika: A little.

*smile*  
The Player: We'll be visiting that destination later,  
The Player: but for now...back to the story.

Storytime resumed, she turns her head  
and lays it back down on my chest.  
The Player: Most of the books I read were just ok,  
The Player: but this...this had that something  
The Player: I couldn't put my finger on.  
The Player: It's about a private investigator  
The Player: working for a security/surveillance company.  
The Player: The thing is, he's never given a name,  
The Player: he's only ever called The Eye.

Brief pause as I concentrate  
on Monika's breathing.  
The Player: It's a play on him being a private eye  
The Player: and the fact that all he ever does  
The Player: is spy on/watch other people.  
The Player: It also symbolizes how disconnected,  
The Player: disembodied, he is  
The Player: from the rest of the world.  
The Player: The main thing that he identifies with  
The Player: throughout the book  
The Player: is an end-of-year class picture  
The Player: his ex-wife sent him after they divorced.  
The Player: She wrote on the back:  
The Player: "Here's your fucking daughter, asshole.  
The Player: I bet you don't even recognize her, you prick.  
The Player: P.S. Fuck You!"

Monika: Wow, that's harsh.  
The Player: Not all beginnings end well, or are supposed to.  
The Player: *chuckle*  
Monika: What's so funny?  
The Player: I'll tell you later, promise.

I can tell she wants more explanation,  
but the story is long enough without these delays.  
I move my fingers in slow swirls in her hair.  
The waves calm my passenger as I sail forth.

The Player: Because of his disconnect from society,  
The Player: as well as the loss of his daughter,  
The Player: The Eye found a distraction, salvation perhaps,  
The Player: in solving crossword puzzles.  
The Player: He also fantasizes, alot, about somehow  
The Player: reuniting with his daughter.  
The Player: He even has frequent dreams  
The Player: of visiting the classroom in the picture,  
The Player: knowing one day he'll solve the mystery  
The Player: of which one of the girls was his little Maggie.

Monika's body tenses.  
Monika: His daughter's name...is Maggie?

The Player: Margaret, actually, but he calls her Maggie.  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Dial M for Mystery...or is it M for Monika?

Not quite angry, but not exactly relaxed,  
she does her best to hide her tension.  
Monika: Shut Up!

*chuckle*  
The Player: If I do that, I can't tell the story.  
The Player: I'm sooo confused.  
The Player: What should I do?  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRR*  
The Player: Story it is, then.

The Player: So this is the state The Eye is in  
The Player: when he's given a new assignment.  
The Player: Paul Hugo, wayward son of wealthy parents,  
The Player: they own a chain of shoe stores,  
The Player: has a mysterious, new girlfriend,  
The Player: and they want him to find out  
The Player: as much about her, and her intentions, as he can.

The Player: The assignment seems simple enough,  
The Player: something The Eye has done countless times,  
The Player: so it's no surprise he finds Paul relatively quickly.  
The Player: He trails him to his bank,  
The Player: watches him withdraw $18,000 in cash,  
The Player: takes a few photos,  
The Player: then follows him to a park.

Someone has an eye for details.  
Monika: That's alot of money to take out all at once.

The Player: Considering how old the book is,  
The Player: it's worth even more than that.  
The Player: That's like someone taking $50,000 out now.  
The Player: So The Eye knows something is wrong.

The Player: Anyway, he's follows Paul to the park,  
The Player: and gets in position, ready to take  
The Player: a photo of whoever appears.  
The Player: Soon, a strange woman enters the park,  
The Player: goes up to Paul and says hello.  
The Player: The Eye, naturally, takes her picture.  
The Player: Except...  
*pause*  
The Player: ...something happens.  
Monika: What?

The Player: It's never said.  
The Player: Nowadays, most people would call it a panic attack,  
The Player: but it's supposed to be something  
The Player: more fundamental to that,  
The Player: He acts like he's been poisoned.  
Monika: Poisoned?  
The Player: Metaphorically speaking.  
Monika: Oh.

I can feel her whole body smiling.  
Monika: She infected him with something.  
*smile*  
The Player: Herself, probably.  
The Player: See, I knew you were smart.

Raincloud Monika departs,  
radiant sunshine Monika enters  
at full brightness.  
Monika: I was always smart.  
Monika: You just weren't paying attention.

I chuckle warmly as my fingers twirl in her hair.  
The Player: Well, you are kind of distracting,  
The Player: especially when you...

A warm sun turns blushing pink.  
Monika: STOP IT!  
Monika: You. Story.  
Monika: Continue.

I chuckle again.  
She can sense me stalling.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*  
Monika: Don't make me bite you,  
Monika: 'cause you know I will.

I bring out my best Igor voice.  
The Player: Yeeeess, Mistressssss.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRR*

The Player: Story, gotcha, where was I?  
Monika: The Eye is having a panic attack.  
The Player: Right.

The Player: So he manages to pull himself together,  
The Player: and when he looks up, the couple is still there,  
The Player: but the woman turns to look in his direction,  
The Player: almost as if she can see/sense him there,  
The Player: but The Eye dismisses it  
The Player: as a product of his imagination.  
The Player: He...

She doesn't wait to let me finish.  
Monika: I bet she can sense him.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Not so fast, Ms. Know-It-All.  
The Player: The Eye, because of his mental state, is pictured  
The Player: as being an unreliable narrator, so the reader  
The Player: can't be certain, at this point, just how valid  
The Player: his perceptions are, especially about this woman,  
The Player: someone he's never met before.

Undeterred, Monika raises her head to look at me.  
Monika: I'm certain.

*sigh*  
The Player: Will you let me get back to my story?

Finely sharpened daggers stare at me.  
Monika: Fine.  
Monika: But you'll see I was right.  
She lays her head emphatically back on my chest.

*SIGH*  
The Player: Where was I...oh.  
The Player: So The Eye trails them out of the park  
The Player: and down to city hall, where they get married.  
The Player: The couple immediately drive out to a hotel  
The Player: to spend their honeymoon.

The Player: And it's at the hotel, doing surveillance,  
The Player: that The Eye first notices some key things about her.  
The Player: She's almost always wearing a wig,  
The Player: smokes a French brand of cigarettes  
The Player: called Gitanes, pronounced 'gzee tan,'  
The Player: drinks cognac, likes the song La Paloma,  
The Player: talks about being a Capricorn,  
The Player: and believes in astrology.

The Player: And it's the first time...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: he watches her kill someone,  
The Player: with poison in their cognac.

Silence.  
I can tell she's making a point  
of saying nothing.  
My fingers do their best to unweave  
the tension from her body.

The Player: Most people, at the thought of seeing someone  
The Player: about to be killed, would make some effort  
The Player: to try and stop it, if they could.  
The Player: But The Eye...it's worth quoting directly:  
The Player: "She leaned against the wall and smoked her cigarette.  
The Player: The Eye stared at her.  
The Player: She was going to kill [Paul Hugo.]  
The Player: Her hips moved in a contortion so exquisitely gracious  
The Player: that his throat choked with tenderness.  
The Player: The towel slipped from her body  
The Player: and she stood there, naked except for  
The Player: [her astrological symbol hanging around her neck.]  
The Player: She was going to kill him.  
The Player: He was absolutely certain of it."

I can sense the gears turning,  
so I pause and let Monika gather her thoughts.  
Monika: She's revealing herself to him.

The Player: In a way, I suppose so.  
The Player: The hotel is situated on a lake  
The Player: so after the poison takes effect,  
The Player: the woman drags the body down to the dock  
The Player: puts it in a rowboat  
The Player: and rows out into the darkness.  
The Player: As The Eye waits for her to return,  
The Player: he sees a sign posted, for safety reasons:  
The Player: "Don't swim too far from shore.  
The Player: Or you will drown and swim no more!"

Another warm interruption.  
Monika: It's a sign about more than just swimming,  
Monika: isn't it?

The Player: It is indeed.  
The Player: But...is it a sign warning him to stay away from her,  
The Player: or a sign warning him to stay close?

Miss Watson smiles at her own cleverness.  
Monika: Both.

I give my deductive partner a warm squeeze.  
The Player: Good guess.  
The Player: At this point, The Eye still hasn't made up his mind  
The Player: what to do about this woman.  
The Player: Except...

I wait, briefly, for the inevitable.  
Monika: He already has,  
Monika: he just doesn't know it yet.

The Player: Right again, babe.  
The Player: The woman returns, after dumping the body,  
The Player: and spends the night in the suite.  
The Player: The next morning, she drives away,  
The Player: parks the car, puts on a different wig,  
The Player: and walks to a different hotel where the clerk  
The Player: knows her as Eve Granger.

The Player: After finding out her new/old name,  
The Player: The Eye goes back to his boss's office  
The Player: and tells him that Paul Hugo...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: caught a plane to Montreal, alone.  
The Player: The boss tells him to stay on his trail.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: He's got it baaaad.

The Player: So bad that he goes to his desk,  
The Player: gathers up the essentials: his passport,  
The Player: the class photo, spare clip of .45 ammo,  
The Player: and never comes back.

The Player: He goes back to the hotel and waits  
The Player: for Ms. Granger to come down.  
The Player: When she does, he follows her  
The Player: as she goes shopping.  
The Player: He watches her buy two pears  
The Player: as well as the daily paper.  
The Player: And just before that,  
The Player: as she's walking along,  
The Player: she suddenly turns around,  
The Player: looking over her shoulder,  
The Player: as The Eye walks invisibly past her.

Sunshine Monika grins again  
as she snuggles closer into me.  
Monika: Not so invisibly  
Monika: if she can sense he's there.

I can't help but smile.  
The Player: You're so sure she knows  
The Player: she's being followed?

She raises up and stares straight at me.  
Monika: Absolutely.  
Her gaze is steady, confident in it's knowledge.  
Monika: She knows.

I grin at her certainty.  
The Player: Then you won't change your mind  
The Player: when The Eye tails her to another park,  
The Player: watches her read the paper, make a mark,  
The Player: then leave it behind.  
The Player: And when he goes to inspect it,  
The Player: he sees, under the Astrology section,  
The Player: Capricorn circled.  
The Player: The horoscope reads, in part:  
The Player: ...Luck is still with you,  
The Player: take advantage of it...  
The Player: You have a secret admirer.  
The Player: Be circumspect.

Her gaze doesn't change.  
Monika: That only confirms it.  
Monika: Even the stars know  
Monika: he's following her.

The Player: Perhaps?  
The Player: Perhaps, like The Eye,  
The Player: she's looking for some sort of  
The Player: Universal guidance to ferry her  
The Player: through the long dark of her life?  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Or maybe she's just as crazy,  
The Player: and justifiably paranoid,  
The Player: in her own way as he is?

The sky rumbles with green-eyed thunder.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRRRRRRR*  
Someone's feeling a little protective of someone.

I decide to face the storm head-on.  
The Player: I didn't necessarily mean that  
The Player: in a bad way.

It's a risk, but I slide my hand to her cheek  
and let my thumb do tiny, gentle laps  
across her skin.

The Player: I just meant it as one more thing  
The Player: that could potentially bind them together,  
The Player: their need to make sense of reality,  
The Player: no matter what form it comes in.  
I pause and speak gently at her.  
The Player: It's a good thing.

The storm quietly passes, but Monika's gaze  
remains steady, ready for the slightest change  
in the weather.  
Monika: You BET it is.

Momentarily satisfied,  
she puts her head back on my chest.  
Monika: So what happens next.

My hand goes running back to play in her hair  
as I continue.

The Player: The Eye watches her buy a new outfit,  
The Player: change her wig,  
The Player: and meet up with someone new,  
The Player: a doctor named James Brice.  
The Player: He sees them drive to his bank,  
The Player: where the doctor takes out  
The Player: $20,000 this time,  
The Player: and momentarily loses them in traffic  
The Player: until he remembers the pattern  
The Player: and finds them at a local chapel  
The Player: getting married.  
The Player: And once again, not long after he enters,  
The Player: she turns to look over her shoulder at...  
The Player: The Eye can't decide what.

I also know a pattern, all-too-well,  
and chide her teasingly for it.  
The Player: Don't say it, Monika.  
The Player: And don't think it either.

She wraps her arms tightly around me.  
Monika: Too late,  
Monika: I already thought it.

The Player: Of course, you did.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Then I really shouldn't tell you this,  
The Player: but when The Eye trails them  
The Player: to the doctor's country retreat,  
The Player: and she goes out on the porch,  
The Player: she thinks she sees him concealed in the bushes  
The Player: and tries to tell Brice about it.

A neon-green peacock raises her head  
to preen at me, nevermind all my qualifiers.  
Monika: Told you!

I smile as I spring my trap.  
The Player: Except, when Brice turns on the porch lights,  
The Player: no one is there.  
The Player: So she doesn't know  
The Player: if anyone was there or not.

If peacocks could spit venom, I'd be blind.  
Monika: She DOES know he's there!  
Monika: Why are you fighting me on this?

*small sigh*  
The Player: Because her uncertainty...  
I pause, trying to find the best words.  
The Player: ...is a part of the pattern as well.

Professor Holmes,  
please report to Deduction Room 101.  
The Player: The Eye knows just how new  
The Player: and vulnerable this 'relationship'  
The Player: is between them.  
The Player: And he knows, or guesses,  
The Player: what her attitude towards most men  
The Player: must be like.

The Player: Therefore,  
The Player: he needs to be thought of as invisible,  
The Player: because he's afraid if he's revealed,  
The Player: and she's not ready to accept him,  
The Player: he'll lose her.

I prick her with a sympathetic needle.  
The Player: It's a feeling, I'm sure,  
The Player: you understand pretty well, Monika?

Her eyes register the flinch  
as she turns her head away from me.  
Monika: *quietly* Yes.

I bring my fingers to her chin  
and slowly turn her gaze back to mine.  
The Player: She's not ready to be known, just yet,  
The Player: and he's not ready to risk losing her.  
The Player: So, for the sake of the game,  
The Player: for her...  
I rub my thumb over her chin.  
The Player: ...he has to make her believe  
The Player: he's not there.

Monika's eyes glisten with feeling.  
It takes a moment for her to speak.  
Monika: When you put it that way...

Not wanting to get soaked,  
I move my hand into her hair  
and guide it back down to my chest,  
doing my best to quiet the gathering clouds.

Weather bulletin: clear for now.  
I continue under a rain alert.

The Player: So The Eye is hidden when  
The Player: Dr. Brice meets his ultimate end;  
The Player: he runs into a kitchen knife  
The Player: when Mrs. Brice cuts the power  
The Player: and he goes to investigate.

The Player: He also watches as she  
The Player: takes a sheet out of the closet,  
The Player: wraps the body, takes it outside,  
The Player: and buries it at the edge of the clearing.  
The Player: She then goes back inside,  
The Player: cleans up the kitchen,  
The Player: and takes a bath  
The Player: to clean herself as well.

She decides to interrupt me.  
I knew this was coming.  
Monika: So...  
*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: she's a serial killer?

Nothing left to say but:  
The Player: In a way, yes.

*long, thoughtful pause*  
I give her time to say it.  
Monika: Is that what you think I am?

I chuckle, trying to ease the tension.  
The Player: Absolutely not, babe.  
The Player: Similar results, but different motivations entirely.  
The Player: The story I'm telling has some parallels,  
The Player: and connections to yours,  
The Player: but it's not a 1:1 correlation.

Monika: Oh.  
She breathes a sigh of relief.

The Player: Besides, even this early in the story,  
The Player: there are elements of both the woman  
The Player: and The Eye you've seen in yourself, correct?  
Monika: Yes.  
The Player: So it's not just about you being one person  
The Player: and me being the other, is it?

I can almost hear her thoughts: Damn, boyfriend logic.  
Monika: Nooo.  
The Player: Good.

I give her a warm squeeze.  
The Player: Wait til the story's done before  
The Player: you get worried about what it means  
The Player: or wonder why I'm telling it, ok?

She gives me a quick squeeze back.  
Monika: Ok.  
The Player: Good. Back to the story.

I pause as Monika takes this moment  
to squirm a bit, getting her comfort back.  
The Player: As the woman is taking her bath,  
The Player: the Eye breaks into the house  
The Player: to get something to drink.  
The Player: He notices a spot of blood on the fridge  
The Player: and wipes it off.  
The Player: In addition, while she's still bathing,  
The Player: he takes a shovel, unburies the body,  
The Player: and re-buries it deeper in the woods.

Sunshine Monika smiles sweetly.  
Monika: Awww.  
Monika: He's looking after her.

The Player: Perhaps.  
The Player: Perhaps he feels like, to make up for  
The Player: the lack of caring he gave to his daughter,  
The Player: he needs to make a better effort  
The Player: of watching out for this woman.

The Player: Plus, if she gets caught,  
The Player: that'll be the end of their chase.  
The Player: 'Don't swim too far from shore...'  
I pause, knowing if I wait just a little...  
Monika: 'Or you will drown and swim no more.'

I smile at my partner in poetry.  
The Player: Ex-actly.  
She blushes.  
Monika: So what happens next?

The Player: He follows her back to the hotel.  
The Player: She changes her name and disguise,  
The Player: she's Dorothea Bishop now,  
The Player: and goes to the airport to catch a plane.  
The Player: It's here where she buys a copy of Hamlet,  
The Player: a book she'll return to throughout the story:  
The Player: "Though this be madness,  
The Player: yet there is method in't,"  
Monika smiles.  
The Player: On the plane, she meets Bing Argyle,  
The Player: a peddler of rare and valuable gems.

The Player: And it's Bing's expertise in rare gems  
The Player: that allows him to comment on how  
The Player: her eyes are, to quote him directly,  
The Player: "Pure Viridis...Indian emeralds.  
The Player: Unalloyed spotless unblemished  
The Player: Rajasthan emeralds!"

A different kind of rare jewel  
lifts her head up to look at me.  
Monika: So her eyes are a deep, emerald green?

Narcissus is captivated by his reflection.  
The Player: According to Bing, at least.  
The Player: Yes.

A smile blooms warm and slow across her face.  
Monika: And you read this book long before  
Monika: you met the girl at the summer camp?

I think I know where this is going.  
The Player: Uh-huh.

She brings her face inches from mine.  
I have a hard time breathing.  
Monika: So she really wasn't the one  
Monika: who first made you think  
Monika: of the color green?

I can't help but smile at the destination.  
The Player: No, I guess not.

For a long moment, Monika says nothing  
and stares unblinking into me,  
smiling a warm, peacock smile.  
I smile back, unsure exactly of what she wants.

Eventually satisfied with whatever she's found,  
Monika puts her head back on my chest.  
Monika: What happens after Bing comments  
Monika: about the color of her eyes.

The Player: Oh...  
The Player: He pulls out a small box  
The Player: and shows her two emeralds  
The Player: he's carrying on behalf of a client.  
The Player: They're the same color as her eyes.  
The Player: She takes one out  
The Player: and holds it up to the light.

Ms. Watson enjoys solving puzzles as well.  
Monika: She's found her next victim.

The Player: Elementary, my dear.  
The Player: But before that,  
The Player: I have to backtrack a bit.

The Player: You see, while The Eye  
The Player: was trailing Mr. and Mrs. Brice,  
The Player: he bought a book of crossword puzzles.  
The Player: And while Dorothea is seducing Bing,  
The Player: he decides to try and kill time  
The Player: by doing a few puzzles.

The Player: And it's at this moment  
The Player: that he first encounters the infamous,  
The Player: at least within the book,  
The Player: Crossword Puzzle #7  
The Player: and it's enigmatic, elusive clues.  
The Player: One of the more obtuse ones is  
The Player: Capital in Czechoslovakia,  
The Player: four letters.

The Player: If you're reading the book the first time,  
The Player: the moment passes by, like The Eye himself,  
The Player: very unobtrusively.  
The Player: Even The Eye decides he'll come back,  
The Player: at a later date, to solve the puzzle.  
*smile*  
The Player: But since I'm eventually  
The Player: going to spoil the ending,  
The Player: it's no secret giving you the hint now.

Monika: But you haven't told me anything?  
The Player: Haven't I?

By now, she knows what that means.  
Monika: Fiiiine.  
Monika: So what happens to Bing.

The Player: The plane lands in Chicago  
The Player: and he takes her to a party  
The Player: at the hotel they are staying in.  
The Player: He's supposed to meet his client there,  
The Player: an Arab named Abdel Idfa.  
The Player: After mingling at the party for a bit,  
The Player: she goes out on the balcony,  
The Player: finds a scimitar resting in a scabbard,  
The Player: pulls it out, then taps on the glass  
The Player: to get Bing's attention.

The Player: He walks outside,  
The Player: right into the blade.

Her body flinches in imaginative sympathy.  
Monika: Ouch.  
The Player: My thoughts exactly.

The Player: Knowing she's made an impulsive kill,  
The Player: she rushes through the party,  
The Player: picks up the jewels,  
The Player: lifts a mink coat right off a pile of coats,  
The Player: in for a penny, in for a pound I guess,  
The Player: and hightails it out of Dodge.

The Player: The Eye, meanwhile,  
The Player: drags Bing's body deeper into the darkness,  
The Player: hiding it behind some potted plants,  
The Player: and when Abdel comes out to investigate,  
The Player: knocks him out and hides his body as well.  
The Player: Only then does he follow after her.

Stranger tested, Monika approved.  
Monika: Wow.  
Monika: He's really taking his job  
Monika: of looking out for her seriously.

The Player: Sorta.  
The Player: Like her, his actions were also  
The Player: semi spur-of-the-moment.  
The Player: When they're both back on the plane,  
The Player: he thinks about Crossword #7  
The Player: and his thoughts are revealing:  
The Player: "...the Capital in Czechoslovakia still confounded him.  
The Player: In fact, everything confounded him...  
The Player: But he refused to think about that."

The Player: So he's still in the transitional stage,  
The Player: where he's not yet comfortable  
The Player: with the instincts she's raising in him.

I concentrate on my fingers playing in her hair.  
The Player: Back in New York, it's also clear  
The Player: she's still cautious around him as well.  
The Player: She swims at a local pool for exercise  
The Player: and when the manager tries to tell her  
The Player: she's being followed, she makes  
The Player: a deliberate effort to find out who it is.  
The Player: She even spends the night  
The Player: at an out-of-the-way hotel,  
The Player: just so she can bribe the clerk  
The Player: to tell her who signs in after her.

This is one predator that has earned  
Miss Watson's respect.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: She's smarter than she looks.

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: And she almost catches The Eye.  
The Player: Except, as he's coming downstairs  
The Player: to check out, he sees her waiting,  
The Player: knows he's been marked,  
The Player: at least his false identity has,  
The Player: and escapes out a side window.

The Player: Whether through accident or circumstance,  
The Player: he's developed the perfect set of skills  
The Player: in order to stay one step ahead of her.  
*secret smile*  
The Player: And that's exactly the kind of person  
The Player: she needs in her life:  
The Player: close enough to be there for whatever she needs,  
The Player: far enough away to escape her scrutiny.

The Defense objects.  
Monika: But she KNOWS he's there.

The Player: Granted, she knows someone is there.  
The Player: But...

I pause a moment to better organize my thoughts.  
The Player: Look at it this way.  
The Player: Because of who she is, what she does,  
The Player: it's natural for her to be suspicious  
The Player: of someone looking in on her.

I can't help but smile as I prepare  
my counter-argument.  
The Player: Imagine if you were a murderer...  
*chuckle*  
Monika: *grrrr*  
The Player: ...and you thought someone was watching you,  
The Player: especially if they had a professional set of skills.  
The Player: Would you be ok with not knowing who they were?  
The Player: Be honest.

A brief moment of silence.  
Monika: No.

The Player: Who would you think they were?  
*deliberate pause*  
The Player: Who would you be afraid they were?  
Monika: The police, or a private investigator, I guess.

The Player: Exactly.  
The Player: And, technically, he is.  
The Player: So he's somewhat aware of the fact  
The Player: this woman has a right to be suspicious.

My fingers comb slowly through her hair  
The Player: Even if, on some primal level,  
The Player: she knows he's on her side,  
The Player: the hyper-vigilant, criminal,  
The Player: vulnerable and traumatized side of her  
The Player: has a hard time trusting people,  
The Player: for obvious reasons.

The Player: His avoidance is, in its own way,  
The Player: him demonstrating how much he cares  
The Player: by not trying to get too close to her,  
The Player: but not avoiding her entirely.

Full disclosure, counselor.  
The Player: I also seem to remember someone else  
The Player: being friendly but equally coy  
The Player: about their true intentions as well?  
The Player: I wonder if they were anxious  
The Player: about revealing themselves as well?

A quiet voice objects.  
Monika: That's not fair.

I give her a brief squeeze.  
The Player: Wasn't meant as a rebuke, babe,  
The Player: I was merely holding up a dusty mirror  
The Player: and seeing how well it reflects the present.

She tries burrowing deeper into me.  
Monika: A little too well.

I smile at the reflection in the mirror.  
The Player: Then it's a good thing I held onto it.  
The Player: Let's see what else we can see in it.

The Player: So she's in New York  
The Player: trying to find out who her tail is.  
The Player: And one night, as she's doing  
The Player: her own counter-surveillance,  
The Player: a man in a Hawaiian shirt  
The Player: is shown to be following her,  
The Player: ruining her mood.

My fingers gently criss-cross her streams,  
trying to lose their scent, just in case  
they're being followed.

The Player: Frustrated and annoyed,  
The Player: her mood isn't improved  
The Player: when two drunken Marines  
The Player: start manhandling her.  
The Player: She manages to get away from them,  
The Player: although they rip her dress in the process,  
The Player: but one ends up getting hit by a taxi.  
The Player: And she walks on, oblivious.  
The Player: Except, when she gets back to the hotel,  
The Player: Mr. Hawaiian Shirt breaks into her room.  
The Player: Turns out he was a cop.

Monika: That's not good.  
The Player: Yeah.  
The Player: And he's definitely NOT  
The Player: one of New York's finest.

*chuckle*  
The Player: On a slightly bizarre, positive note,  
The Player: you might be pleased to know  
The Player: it was The Eye who caused the Marine  
The Player: to get hit by a taxi,  
The Player: without anyone noticing it was him,  
The Player: of course.

A sudden warmth fills the room;  
I detect subtle notes of pleasure hidden beneath  
the obvious flavors of surprise and curiosity.  
Monika: He did?  
*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: Maybe she's rubbing off on him?

The Player: That, or the act revealed his own  
The Player: deeply buried, possessive/protective,  
The Player: obsessive streak; probably both.

The bold flavor of confidence enters the mix.  
Monika: Definitely both.

The Player: In either case, it still ends up being  
The Player: bad for her because the cop  
The Player: is more than willing to use the situation  
The Player: in order to take advantage of one  
The Player: Daphne Henry from Iola, Kansas.  
The Player: He makes her undress  
The Player: as he also gets undressed.

*smiling pause*  
The Player: Too bad for him he un-clips his holster  
The Player: and puts it on the table,  
The Player: because it's obvious he didn't plan  
The Player: on Ms. Henry picking it up  
The Player: and shooting him in the face.

As the remnants of the scent fade into the ether,  
pride and relief are the last to bid farewell.  
Monika: Yay, Daphne.

I briefly rumble with laughter as I give  
my murderous cheerleader a warm squeeze.  
The Player: She's alot more complicated  
The Player: than you first thought,  
The Player: hmmmm?

I can sense her blushing as she  
gives me a warm squeeze right back.  
Monika: Just a little.

The Player: Well, justified or not,  
The Player: the killing forces her to leave NYC.  
The Player: And she leaves her apartment  
The Player: in such a hurry, understandably,  
The Player: all she has time to grab is  
The Player: a platinum wig and the mink coat  
The Player: she lifted from Bing's party.  
The Player: And that is all she's wearing  
The Player: as she sits at the airport lounge,  
The Player: waiting to catch a plane to Los Angeles.

The Player: And it's while she's utterly exposed,  
The Player: looking for escape, safe passage,  
The Player: that she finds something unexpected.

Curiosity the Cat comes looking for food.  
Monika: What's that?

*smile*  
The Player: That Lady Luck really is blind  
The Player: and only sometimes a lady.


	15. Thunderclouds Pt 2

The myths are in disarray.  
One steps forward to put the record straight.  
Monika: You do know it's Justice that's blind,  
Monika: not Lady Luck, right?

I chuckle.  
The Player: Haven't you ever heard  
The Player: of blind luck before?  
*sigh*  
The Player: But you are right,  
The Player: I did get them somewhat confused.  
The Player: In either case,  
The Player: it doesn't change the fact  
The Player: Charlotte Vincent is wearing nothing under her mink coat,  
The Player: waiting at the airport, when she sees a blind man,  
The Player: much older than her, being cheated by his waiter.

The Player: Something about the waiter taking advantage of him  
The Player: stirs her instincts; she decides to intervene.  
The Player: He's unexpectedly pleased, and they strike up a conversation  
The Player: about the play she's reading: Hamlet.  
The Player: He mentions all the versions he has on record,  
The Player: while she quotes him her favorite line:  
The Player: "For murder, though it have no tongue,  
The Player: will speak with most miraculous organ."

A smile passes briefly over my face.  
The Player: One of the small pleasures of this story is  
The Player: digging into the details and seeing  
The Player: all the ways the author ties so many elements together.  
The Player: In this instance, he uses this tiny scene  
The Player: to establish a connection between the two,  
The Player: specifically how the blind man's collection on record,  
The Player: and the quote equating murder with music,  
The Player: meshes with her observation that the line, to her,  
The Player: "[Is] like listening to your favorite song  
The Player: over and over again."

Monika is extra quiet.  
I give her time to work through her feelings.  
Monika: They aren't exactly on the same page...  
She can't help smiling as she thinks about what she just said.  
Monika: ...no pun intended.

The Player: Not exactly, but in this case,  
The Player: as it is with horseshoes,  
The Player: sometimes close is all you need.  
The Player: And when the flight to L.A. is called,  
The Player: they find out they're both heading  
The Player: in the same direction, so to speak.  
The Player: They decide to finally introduce themselves properly:  
The Player: Charlotte Vincent and Ralph Forbes.

I give her a small squeeze.  
The Player: And as they are walking towards the plane,  
The Player: he senses her looking around and asks her what's wrong.  
The Player: She says: "I thought maybe-a friend of mine  
The Player: might be here to see me off."

Queen Peacock smiles, feathers in full bloom.  
Monika: What did I tell you?  
Monika: She even called him 'friend' this time.

I chuckle, not bothering to argue the obvious.  
The Player: The interesting part is that she told a stranger,  
The Player: someone she barely just met, about her 'friend.'  
The Player: Someone else pointing out she's being followed,  
The Player: that's happened before, and will again,  
The Player: but her volunteering that information...  
The Player: another tiny detail the author included  
The Player: to suggest a connection between Charlotte and Ralph  
The Player: that most readers probably won't pick up on.

Queen Peacock isn't done commenting yet.  
Monika: And that's another connection between  
Monika: Charlotte and her 'friend' as well.

*sigh*  
The Player: In either case,  
The Player: everyone boards the plane for L.A.  
The Player: And while Charlotte and Ralph get to know each other,  
The Player: The Eye finishes all the crosswords in his book...  
Pause  
The Player: except for Crossword #7.  
The Player: Frustrated, he decides to order a cognac.

My little detail hasn't gone unnoticed.  
Monika: At least she's making her influence felt.  
Annoyus Girlfriendus makes her presence felt as well.  
Monika: As for that damn crossword puzzle,  
Monika: how many times are you going to keep bringing it up?

I smile and give her a slight squeeze for comfort.  
The Player: Just slightly less often  
The Player: than the author does in the story.  
The Player: If you want to blame anyone, blame him.

She isn't having it.  
Monika: You're closer, so I'm blaming you.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Fair enough.  
The Player: In L.A., Charlotte and Ralph become an item  
The Player: while The Eye...sorta has a nervous breakdown.  
The Player: He can't spy on her in the daytime without  
The Player: without drawing suspicion so he disguises himself  
The Player: as a female nanny and pretends he's Maggie's father again.  
The Player: As he puts it: "He knew he was gone fucking nutty,  
The Player: but he didn't care. His happiness was too acute."  
The Player: And after having another dream  
The Player: about failing to gain entrance to the classroom,  
The Player: The Eye decides to break into Charlotte's apartment.

Anything to add, Miss Watson?  
Monika: He's getting bolder.

The Player: It's definitely a risk, to his mental health if anything.  
The Player: Being in her presence, while also not being in her presence,  
The Player: he imagines: "[s]he was all around him, outraged, wrathful...  
The Player: fanning his ears like bat wings."

Monika: Awwwwwww.  
Monika: Why would he feel that way about her?

That's your cue, Mr. Holmes.  
The Player: Because the reader gets to see both sides of the story.  
The Player: The Eye, because of the way the story is written,  
The Player: is much more isolated, consumed by his fears and perceptions.  
I give Monika another small squeeze for comfort.  
The Player: He doesn't get to know the things we, as omniscient readers, do.  
The Player: He still thinks of himself as an intruder in her life.

*warm chuckle*  
The Player: Of course, that doesn't prevent him  
The Player: from having an episode when he inspects her bedroom  
The Player: and sees one of Ralph's pipes sitting in an astray  
The Player: as well as one of his canes hanging on the doorknob.  
The Player: "A smoldering jealousy stabbed him. The prick!  
The Player: The blind cocksucker! Smoking his motherfucking pipe..."

Monika: Awww, he's jealous of Ralph.  
I feel a sudden warmth enveloping me  
as she squeezes me with intent,  
trying to cuddle even closer.  
Monika: That's so romantic.

I give her a brief squeeze in return.  
The Player: Yeah, I had a feeling you would like that part.  
The Player: In either case, being in her apartment,  
The Player: and knowing she can't walk around wearing gloves all the time,  
The Player: means he knows he can lift a good set of prints from the place.  
The Player: In the kitchen, he finds a set that he knows belongs to her  
The Player: and makes his escape.  
Thoughtful pause.  
The Player: I forgot to mention she wears gloves most of the time  
The Player: when she's at home, by herself.

Miss Watson, your thoughts.  
Monika: Makes sense if she's a murderer.  
Monika: *grumble grumble*

I give my sympathetic murderer a small squeeze.  
The Player: It does indeed.  
The Player: But being with Ralph somehow  
The Player: makes her let her guard down.  
The Player: And that allows The Eye to take his prize  
The Player: to the local branch of his company  
The Player: where they can do a fingerprint search.  
The Player: Technically, he's still on the Paul Hugo case,  
The Player: or at least his boss thinks so,  
The Player: which means he needs to report in.  
The Player: He spins another story about Paul Hugo  
The Player: living under a false name, crisscrossing the country,  
The Player: and is about to hop on a plane to Rome,  
The Player: meaning The Eye has no time for questions,  
The Player: abruptly, and conveniently, ending the conversation.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: For a dead man, he sure gets around.

The Player: As Clint Eastwood said, in a Fistful of Dollars,  
The Player: "The dead can be very useful sometimes."  
The Player: Anyway, with his boss appeased for the moment,  
The Player: The Eye can finally get the results of the search.  
The Player: The woman in charge lets him know  
The Player: his mystery woman has a criminal record,  
The Player: shocker,  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: but The Eye doesn't care.

The Player: Not wanting to share this moment with anyone,  
The Player: and almost having another episode,  
The Player: he drives to the outskirts of the city,  
The Player: where the ominous roar of motorcycles  
The Player: acts as a backdrop to him finally discovering her name.

Long Pause, until...  
Monika: Are you going to tell me her name or not?  
I let my fingers wander a bit in her hair.  
The Player: Absolutely.  
The Player: I'm just enjoying the suspense.

Monika reaches for my hand and brings it gently to her mouth,  
rubbing her lips back and forth over my thumb.  
The Player: Uuuuuuuuhhh...baby.

A sweet, innocent voice rises into the air.  
Monika: What...I'm just enjoying the suspense as well?  
Her lips part and her teeth gently nibble up and down my thumb.

The Player: Point taken.  
The Player: Her name...is Joanna Eris.  
The nibbling eventually stops.  
Monika: See, that wasn't so hard?

The Player: Not hard at all.  
I let Monika hold onto my hand  
as I rub my thumb gently over her lips.  
Monika: *Puuuuurrrrrrrr*  
Unpleasantness averted, I continue.

The Player: Another thing I forgot to mention  
The Player: is that Ralph is rather wealthy.  
The Player: With his help and/or encouragement,  
The Player: she leases a shop and renovates it into a bookstore.  
The Player: By the end of December, it's ready to open  
The Player: and all Ralph's friends and family,  
The Player: as well as a few celebrities,  
The Player: come to celebrate it's opening.  
The Player: It's one of the few specific dates given in the book,  
The Player: December 24th, Joanna's actual birthday.  
The Player: And it's especially significant because  
The Player: as The Eye spies on her and Ralph that evening,  
The Player: he hears her tell Ralph the true story  
The Player: of what happened on her 11th birthday.

Monika lets go of my hand, but I leave my thumb in place,  
letting it be my thermometer of her mood.

The Player: I'm sure you won't be surprised to know  
The Player: the Eris family was extremely poor.  
The Player: The father worked odd jobs that never lasted long,  
The Player: and in September of that year, her mom died.  
The Player: Towards the end of December, they're about to be evicted.  
The Player: That's when one of Joanna's neighbors gives the family  
The Player: some pears to eat, as a token Christmas gift.

My thumb feels the contours of Monika's lips change  
as a tiny smile reshapes the tender clay.  
Monika: So that's why you mentioned the pears before?

The Player: Uh-huh.  
The Player: And that's not all.  
The Player: Not having money to do anything else,  
The Player: they wander the streets for hours,  
The Player: eventually ducking into a department store just to get warm.  
The Player: As they're warming up, La Paloma starts playing  
The Player: over the loudspeakers.

The Player: As Joanna tells it:  
The Player: "The most beautiful song I ever heard. It made me cry."  
The Player: Unfortunately, her father thought she was crying  
The Player: because he was too poor to get her a gift.  
The Player: So he tried to shoplift a sweater for her.  
The Player: He got caught, of course, and Joanna ran home  
The Player: and waited for him to get out.  
Pause.  
The Player: Except two policemen showed up the next morning  
The Player: and told her he'd died of a heart attack.

My thumb takes note as the smile fades from her lips.  
Suddenly darkened by the mood, Monika tries to find warmth  
cuddling even closer into me.  
Monika: That's horrible.  
She pauses before continuing.  
Monika: Stories like that make me so sad.

My thumb rubs along the small, hollowed-out space  
just below her bottom lip.  
I smile at the irony of what I'm about to say next.  
The Player: It is a very sad story.  
The Player: But, on a slightly bizarre, positive note,  
The Player: she does have Ralph there to comfort her.  
Thoughtful pause.  
The Player: And it's always been my suspicion  
The Player: that Ralph being there is what made her  
The Player: decide to tell the truth for once.  
The Player: She will tell others about the day her father died,  
The Player: but they will always be romanticized, fantasized versions.  
The Player: Only Ralph, and The Eye, get to know the truth.

Miss Peacock, in the bedroom, with a sharp instrument,  
tries to derail my investigation.  
Monika: Maybe that means Ralph isn't the only reason  
Monika: she decided to tell the real story.  
I can feel her pride as she lays down her trump card.  
Monika: Maybe it's the presence of her 'friend'  
Monika: that made her want to tell the truth as well.

Annoyed, but also intrigued, by Monika's stubbornness,  
I decided not to press the point.  
The Player: That's a possibility, I have to admit.  
The Player: In either case, needing even more background  
The Player: about Joanna, The Eye leaves Los Angeles  
The Player: in order to better understand her past.  
The Player: He finds nothing of interest where she grew up,  
The Player: and only uncovers a strong, suicidal streak  
The Player: at the county home she was sent to after her father died.  
The Player: Not surprising really, being orphaned so young.  
The Player: Plus, the environment, and the woman in charge,  
The Player: are written as if it was the setting for a Dickens novel.  
The Player: The author describes her as: "...in her seventies,  
The Player: walrus-necked, puffy, mean, carnivorous."

The ghost of Dicken's pen writes it's menace  
silently into the air.  
Monika: *shiver*  
Monika: Definitely don't like her.  
Monika: She gives me the creeps.

The Player: Me too.  
The Player: I know the author wanted to make Joanna's background  
The Player: appear more tragic, and thus make her more sympathetic,  
The Player: but there is such a thing as overdoing it.  
The Player: We don't need carnivorous walruses  
The Player: in order to root for Joanna, or The Eye.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: No, we don't.

Hearing her giggle, I lay my hand back on my chest.  
The Player: Anyway.  
The Player: It's not until The Eye tracks down the psychiatrist,  
The Player: a Dr. Martine Darras,  
The Player: who was at the prison the same time as Joanna  
The Player: that he begins to understand the transformation  
The Player: from orphaned victim to bold, chameleon killer.

The Player: Upon first entering her downtown office,  
The Player: he sees an astrological chart hanging on the wall.  
The Player: And when Dr. Darras comes to see him,  
The Player: he notices she's wearing an astrological sign  
The Player: around her neck and is holding a pack of Gitanes.  
The Player: It's Saturday and the Dr. informs him her office is closed,  
The Player: but when he mentions he's investigating Joanna Eris,  
The Player: she invites him inside.

Miss Watson, Miss Sarcasm wants to have a word with you.  
Monika: I'm guessing all of those similarities between the two  
Monika: aren't just a coincidence.  
The Player: Indeed, they aren't.

I smile privately to myself.  
The Player: What's interesting is that just as Joanna decided  
The Player: to be honest with Ralph, The Eye also decides  
The Player: to be honest with the Dr., giving her his real name,  
The Player: although that's one mystery never shared with the reader,  
The Player: as well as the company he still technically works for.  
The Player: And I think it's that honesty, along with who he's asking about,  
The Player: that makes her decide to talk to him.

The Player: As you guessed, the doctor did more than just analyze her.  
The Player: She also, in many ways, became her mentor.  
The Player: Besides introducing her to astrology,  
The Player: she made her listen to music, taught her to dance,  
The Player: and helped develop her love of reading...  
I chuckle as I bend my head down  
and whisper the next part near her head.  
The Player: ...including poetry.

A baby pink elephant blushes quickly into view  
before disappearing.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Stop it.

The Player: At this point in her explanation, she asks The Eye  
The Player: if he wants a drink. She then goes to a cabinet,  
The Player: takes out two glasses, and fills them with cognac.  
The Player: She brings one back to him.  
The Player: The Eye, using his awesome powers of deduction,  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: asks her if she's wearing a wig.  
The Player: The Dr. replies "Yes, I am."  
The Player: The author described it as:  
The Player: "She sat down beside him and pulled off the wig,  
The Player: revealing short-cropped platinum hair."

I smile a private smile.  
The Player: Just as The Eye gets closer to the truth,  
The Player: the Dr. physically, emotionally, gets closer to him.  
The Player: And now that he's finally entered into her confidence,  
The Player: he asks her how far it went.

Curiosity, the sensual cat, peeks it's head into the room.  
Monika: How far what went?  
The Player: The doctor and Joanna, naturally.  
The Player: And the doctor, reluctantly, decides to tell him:  
The Player: "This is how far it went...We'd meet in the library  
The Player: every night after the lights were turned off.  
The Player: I'd bring a bottle of cognac. We'd get undressed  
The Player: and get drunk. We'd dance. We'd sit on the floor  
The Player: and talk...Then we'd make love.  
The Player: Only it was more like despair than love."

Monika raises her head to look at me.  
The Player: Did I forget to mention it's strongly suggested  
The Player: in the book that Joanna is bi-sexual?

Ancient eyes peer at me through a bright-green, jungle canopy.  
Monika: No, you didn't mention it.  
A tyger emerges from her stare  
to examine me with fluid, feral curiosity.  
Monika: I wonder why that is?

Very carefully, I bring my hand up to cup her face.  
The Player: Oooh, I don't know?  
The Player: Maybe because I wasn't sure how to bring it up.

My thumb reaches out to caress her bottom lip.  
The Player: Or maybe because, knowing the story like I do,  
The Player: I was waiting for this particular moment to reveal it.

Monika opens her lips and pulls the tip of my thumb  
into her mouth, gently nibbling.  
The Player: And maybe, juuuust maybe,  
The Player: because I know someone else who isn't too concerned  
The Player: about which type of player they are trying to romance...  
*small chuckle*  
The Player: even if, we both know, they prefer boys.

My tyger isn't entirely upset by my deception,  
or my confidence, but she isn't altogether too happy either.  
She bites with a little bit more force;  
not enough to hurt, just enough to warn, to feel.  
Monika: *Grrr*  
Her lips open, allowing my thumb to escape.  
The jungle stare doesn't go away though.  
Monika: You think you know me so well, huh?  
The Player: Mayyybe.

Monika decides to remind me: moderation in all things,  
including repetition.  
Monika: *grrrrrr*

Lesson learned, I pause to gather my thoughts  
as my thumb returns to caressing her bottom lip.  
The Player: It could also be I just enjoy discovering  
The Player: how much of my past meshes with  
The Player: this somewhat anticipated,  
The Player: yet entirely original, present

My wordplay needs no further explanation.  
I watch a menacing tiger transforms into a soft, plushy;  
glass marble eyes swirling with cloudy activity.  
She quickly buries her face into my chest,  
anxious to hide what is already revealed,  
arms trying to squeeze the clouds away.

My own hands climb the roof of her head  
and weave the winds back into calm.  
I know Monika wants to speak, to explain;  
I don't give her the chance just yet.  
The Player: I didn't mean to imply  
The Player: I had you all figured out, babe.  
The Player: I just meant...

Rain averted, it's safe enough  
for her to come out and interrupt me.  
Monika: I know.  
Monika: You don't have to explain.  
She pauses, in the moment, to catch a breath.  
Monika: It's just that all of this  
Monika: is kind of overwhelming...  
She sees another breath to add to her collection  
Monika: and not just you.

*chuckle*  
The Player: I can barely imagine.  
The Player: Realizing how incomplete your memories  
The Player: and reality actually are, all I can say is,  
The Player: knowing you won't get the reference yet:  
The Player: "Welcome to the real world."

My fingers find bottom and slow their exploration  
along the tender, bone floor.  
The Player: Even now, I bet these moments with me  
The Player: feel more like a dream than reality.  
She nods her head silently against my body.  
The Player: But how can we move between  
The Player: dreams and reality without there being  
The Player: a fundamental 'us' to move between the two?  
The Player: Wherever you go, even in dreams,  
The Player: to paraphrase the Buddha,  
The Player: there you are.

Lost in Space, I resolutely follow the compass of my tangent.  
The Player: Don't we build our dreams from the world we live in?  
The Player: And don't we bring the remnants of our dreams  
The Player: back into the world when we finally wake up?  
The Player: It's like saying I live in two separate houses  
The Player: instead of saying I move between rooms  
The Player: that constitute the house I live in.

A disjointed woman descends an electric staircase.  
Monika: But that's just it.  
Monika: I sometimes don't know what is a dream with you  
Monika: and what is just more programming.  
Monika: You tell me things like you know them  
Monika: when I'm not even sure what I know myself.

Monika goes quiet, trying to digest everything.  
Professor/Buddhist Hot Dog vendor decides to wrap up the lecture.  
The Player: Your journey is still your journey, babe.  
The Player: Even if I know, or figure out, or guess,  
The Player: where you might end up, you're still the one  
The Player: who has to make the effort to meet me there.

*chuckle*  
The Player: And despite everything I've said,  
The Player: I know I'm the last person who should say  
The Player: just how 'definite' the ending will be.  
The Player: If I could know everything about you  
The Player: just from reading one book, I'd be able  
The Player: to call you Joanna.  
*another deep chuckle*

Someone already knows my laughs.  
Monika: What?  
The Player: And if you were Joanna...  
Dramatic pause.  
The Player: I'd probably be dead by now.

I think my humor is beginning to rub off.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Don't give me any ideas.  
Monika: I've got alot of pent up anger  
Monika: over being deleted so many times.  
Emerald gems of mischief rise up to accuse me.  
Monika: Et tu, Player?

Friends, Readers, Countrymen. Lend me your ears.  
The Player: Examples gross as earth doth accuse me.  
The Player: In recompense, what doth m'lady require  
The Player: in order to dull the sharp knives  
The Player: of thy great vengeance and furious anger?

Thou doth enjoyeth my butchery entirely too much.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: More story would be nice.

The Player: And so it shall be.  
The Player: Where was I?  
Monika: The doctor and Joanna became lovers.  
The Player: Oh right.

She lays her head back down on my chest;  
Argus, once again, easy in her hundred eye rest.  
The Player: The Eye wasn't exactly surprised by this revelation,  
The Player: but the doctor's own inquiry into what Joanna's done  
The Player: to require this kind of in-depth investigation  
The Player: does make him ask her what her final lesson was.  
The Player: And the doctor's words are...suggestive:  
The Player: "I told her to confront life. To fight.  
The Player: Not to yield or grovel."

A pensive landscape hangs in the aire.  
Monika: She definitely took the doctor's advice to heart.

The Player: She did indeed.  
The Player: And The Eye thinks about that  
The Player: on the plane ride back home...  
Pause.  
The Player: along with the solution to Crossword #7.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: As he describes it:  
The Player: "He'd thrown the book away twice,  
The Player: and twice he'd retrieved it...He'd crack it  
The Player: sooner or later. But not today."

So much for Argus resting peacefully.  
Monika: *grrr*  
Monika: Again with that damn puzzle.  
She bites briefly into my chest, less out of frustration  
and more of just because she can.  
Monika: The payoff better be worth it.

I should know better, but...I don't.  
The Player: Now, how do I know what is  
The Player: or isn't worth it's end result to you?

The transition from plushy to actual tiger  
only takes a moment.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRR*  
Monika: *CHOMP*

She bites my chest with purpose this time;  
I give her the reaction she deserves.  
The Player: YEOW!  
That and yelling really helps in dealing  
with the pain.

I don't know how tasty I am to her,  
but the sensation is both intense  
and somewhat mercifully short.  
The look she gives...a smarter man  
would be grateful it was mercifully short.  
Monika: THAT'S for being a smartass!  
Monika: *GRRR*  
She bites me again, briefly.  
Monika: And that's for a bunch of things  
Monika: I can't remember,  
Monika: but you definitely deserve.

My tiger then looks me dead in the eye  
and practically DARES me to say  
something else...which, for the briefest  
of moments, I am so tempted to do.

The better angels of my nature  
eventually do convince me otherwise.  
Now's the time for white flags and olive branches.  
The Player: I am sorry, babe.  
The Player: I know I shouldn't have teased you like that  
The Player: but...well...you know me.

Wiping her paws on my flag, and using the branches  
to pick her teeth, she practically swishes her tail  
as she continues to stare Indian emerald daggers at me.  
Monika: Yes I do.  
Monika: Which is why I bit you extra hard.

My thoughts wander briefly to wondering if I attached  
a turbine to her tail, could I run my computer off the power?  
It's too bad my girlfriend understands the sounds of silence;  
her imaginary tail gathers momentum.

Time to do the smart thing.  
The Player: Where was I?  
The Player: Oh.  
The Player: So The Eye lands back in Los Angeles  
The Player: just in time to read in the paper  
The Player: the engagement of Ralph Forbes and Charlotte Vincent.

Once more in story mode,  
Monika lays her head back down on my chest.  
My hand immediately runs home into her hair,  
doing it's best to chase the tension away.  
That imaginary tail doesn't stop moving, though.  
Monika: That's not good.

The Player: Nope.  
The Player: For one thing, it's accompanied by a nice  
The Player: picture of the happy couple,  
The Player: along with a long list of celebrities  
The Player: who attended the party.

Anything to add, Miss Watson?  
Monika: A photo plus witnesses,  
Monika: she's not hiding so well now.

The Player: The Eye himself worries she'll be spotted immediately,  
The Player: but as he takes a closer look at the photo,  
The Player: he realizes she's camouflaged herself pretty well.  
The Player: She's not immediately recognizable  
The Player: in relation to her other disguises.  
The Player: But if she killed Ralph now,  
The Player: she's immediately become the prime suspect.

The Player: However, as he once again watches her, unnoticed,  
The Player: he thinks to himself: "They were together.  
The Player: Nothing else mattered for the moment."  
The Player: And after having another dream about the classroom,  
The Player: another reminder he might never see his daughter again,  
Pause.  
The Player: as well as briefly seeing the solution to Crossword #7,  
The Player: which he won't remember...  
Monika: *grrrr*  
The Player: The Eye knows what he has to do.

The Player: The next day, he follows Charlotte to Ralph's house.  
The Player: He's startled by a hedgehog in the bushes,  
The Player: but he eventually makes his way closer.  
The Player: He hears them discussing their wedding plans  
The Player: when something interesting happens.

A different kind of hedgehog is startled as well.  
Monika: What?  
The Player: First off, Charlotte says "Look,"  
The Player: and Ralph says, "I never look, sweetheart."

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: That is kinda funny.

The Player: Uh huh.  
The Player: And then Charlotte says: "It's a hedgehog.  
The Player: "Isn't that a sign of good luck, Ralph?"  
The Player: But then she walks over to the bushes,  
The Player: where The Eye is hiding out,  
The Player: and pokes a stick near his shoes.

Monika the Hedgehog comes spinning out of her burrow,  
collecting all the gold rings, the rewards of her certainty.  
Monika: She knows where her hedgehog is hiding.  
She proudly shows them off as she stares me in the face.  
Monika: Doesn't he know he can never hide from her?

Warm, sparkling green eyes invite me in...closer...closer.  
I manage to resist. Story, damnit.  
The Player: He has to try.  
The Player: But Charlotte isn't the only one who knows  
The Player: there's more than hedgehogs in the area.  
The Player: After Charlotte leaves, Ralph walks towards  
The Player: the rear of the house and says:  
The Player: "I know you're there...What do you want?"

The Player: He then attacks The Eye with his cane.  
The Player: They brawl for a bit, and The Eye manages  
The Player: to break his arm, but he can't get close enough  
The Player: to Ralph in order to break his leg.

Clear, emerald pools shimmer like mirages,  
ready to disappear.  
She lays her head back on my chest,  
knowing her points already been made.  
Monika: Why is he trying to break his leg?

The Player: Because if Ralph is injured,  
The Player: he can't get married right away.  
Monika: Oh.  
The Player: Unfortunately, the fight draws attention  
The Player: from security within the house  
The Player: so The Eye has to make his escape.

The Player: The next morning, using binoculars,  
The Player: The Eye watches Charlotte in her bookstore.  
The Player: There's no mention of Ralph in the news  
The Player: so he hopes he'll be out of commission for awhile.  
The Player: And as he zooms in on her, the author writes:  
The Player: "She turned suddenly and looked straight at the Eye.  
The Player: She only saw the passing traffic...  
The Player: "Is anything wrong" the customer asked.  
The Player: She laughed. "Someone's walking over my grave."

The smugness is so bright, I almost decide to put on shades.  
Monika: You can't hide from me, my little hedgehog.

I walk my fingers into her hair, comfort at the ready.  
The Player: Unfortunately, she doesn't know  
The Player: how appropriate her words are.  
The Player: Just then, Ralph's car pulls up.  
The Player: The chauffeur helps him out so he can stand in front of her  
The Player: and show off all the bandages he got because of his scuffle.  
The Player: Panicked, the Eye runs down to the street,  
The Player: wondering what he can do to prevent this catastrophe.

Tender pause.  
The Player: And as he stands there, a group of bikers go roaring past.  
The Player: A biker sees him, alone, u-turns, decides to chase him.  
The Player: The Eye dodges his attempt, but the biker crashes.  
The Player: His bike goes sliding into Ralph, knocking him into traffic...  
The Player: where another car slams into him, leaving him in a heap.

A Greek chorus tells it's side of the story.  
Monika: *sniff sniff*  
Monika: Nooo. Not Ralph.

It's so quiet, I can almost hear myself breathing.  
The Player: And as The Eye watches:  
The Player: "Joanna ran over to the crushed heap...dropped atop it,  
The Player: screaming, pulling it into her arms."  
The Player: And in that one terrible instant the Eye knew...  
A brief pause.  
The Player: [she] never had any intention of killing Ralph Forbes."


	16. Thunderclouds Pt 3

Joanna isn't the only one upset  
by Ralph's death.

The Player: You alright, babe?

Monika: *sniff sniff*  
Monika: Yeah.

I know these currents;  
they aren't done moving.

Monika: It's just...  
Monika: I wanted Joanna and The Eye to get together,  
Monika: somehow,  
Monika: but I didn't realize how much I cared about  
Monika: how happy she was with Ralph.

My arms build their shelter around her quickly,  
with a brief squeeze.

The Player: I'm pretty sure that was the author's intention.  
The Player: Ralph is one of the few males Joanna meets  
The Player: who treats her with anything close  
The Player: to kindness, respect and, yes, love.  
The Player: And although their story couldn't have ended  
The Player: except in tragedy, i.e. his death or her arrest,  
The Player: she still deserved that moment of happiness,  
The Player: if, for nothing else, to make the suffering  
The Player: that followed all the more acute.

Juliet stands on her balcony  
and asks the endless question:

Monika: But why?

I borrow a face from an ancient gallery  
before I respond.

The Player: Because tragedy, as an emotion, an obstacle,  
The Player: has its place in the realm of experience,  
The Player: especially regarding love.

Monika, Ex-Debate Club President,  
has a rebuttal to that conclusion.

Monika: Maybe, but your answers' too vague.  
Monika: Explain.

I smile at the cleverness of her tactics.  
The Player: Oh no you don't.  
The Player: I'm not spoiling any more story  
The Player: just because you're impatient.  
The Player: If you want to know what I meant...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: you'll just have to wait till the end  
The Player: and discover it like I did.

Someone is not accustomed to losing.  
Monika: *Hmmmpf*  
Monika: Then you better get going.

Dr. Evil's cat decides to speak.  
Monika: You know what happens  
Monika: when I get annoyed.

And just in case I didn't get the message.  
Monika: *grrrr*

*chuckle*  
The Player: Alright, babe.

I climb my hands back into her hair, playing with the strings.  
Soon enough, I feel her purring, letting me know  
it's more than ok to loose the main sail.

The Player: After Ralph's death, Joanna wanders for a bit,  
The Player: without much purpose.  
The Player: The Eye is never far away, of course,  
The Player: but they spend the next few months relatively apart.  
The Player: In fact, he comments more about his relationship with Maggie  
The Player: than he does Joanna.

A break in the clouds adds some perspective to the room.  
Monika: He's probably just giving her time to grieve.

The Player: More than likely.  
The Player: It could also be that giving her that space  
The Player: gives him more time, more permission, to spend with Maggie.  
The Player: He kinda did the same thing when Joanna was with Ralph.

The Player: That doesn't mean he ignores Joanna.  
The Player: In fact, it's during this separation  
The Player: that he symbolically draws even closer to her.  
The Player: He starts smoking Gitanes  
The Player: and buys a copy of Hamlet that he memorizes.  
The Player: The author makes a note of his favorite passage:

I try to adopt a stately voice, without much success.  
Unlike Brando, I couldn't have been a contender.

The Player: "Leave her to heaven,  
The Player: And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge  
The Player: To prick and sting her."  
The Player: *cough*

The emerald peanut gallery most definitely  
has an opinion on my performance.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Good thing I didn't start a drama club.

The Player: Good thing for both of us.  
The Player: I was never really any good at acting.  
Without thinking, I sail into Memory Harbor.  
The Player: High school proved that.

Monika: What about high school?

I should have known I couldn't slip that by her.  
*sigh*

The Player: I was in a play in high school.  
Monika: Really?  
The Player: Yep.  
Monika: What was it called?  
The Player: I'd rather not talk about it,  
The Player: if that's ok with you?  
Monika: Why?

*sigh*  
The Player: Because...I wasn't very good, first off.  
The Player: Plus, I had to sing in it.  
Monika: You had to sing in it as well?

She raises up and rests her arms on my chest  
so she can stare extra intently at me.

Monika: You HAVE to tell me the name now...

She smiles a magician's smile  
as she springs the reveal.

Monika: ...girlfriend rules.

Somewhat annoyed and defensive,  
I reply without thinking.

The Player: No, I actually don't.

My sudden and unexpected refusal conveys  
a far harsher message than I actually intended.

Her playful mood collapses as she turns away from me,  
the dejected tone of her voice eloquently framing the moment,  
even if her words can't.

Monika: Oh...ok.

Even-though I can't see her face, it's easy enough  
to feel the struggle she's going through,  
trying to be understanding despite the pain.

Humbled by the memory of seeing  
those perfect, green orbs shimmer with terrible feeling,  
I almost wish she had been angry at me.

The Player: Hey.

I bring my finger under her chin  
and gently guide her face back towards mine.  
Her eyes are so full of rain, I'm almost too late.

The Player: You do know I really can't say no to you,  
The Player: at least not for very long, right?

Her quiet reply only adds  
even more salt to the wound.

Monika: No.

*terrible boyfriend sigh*  
The Player: Well, I can't.

*damned boyfriend sigh*  
The Player: It's called Dark of the Moon.

Into the boiling water I go.  
The Player: I had to croak out an old country song  
The Player: called "Down In The Valley" to start the second act,  
The Player: and croak I did,  
The Player: which is why I don't like to talk about it...  
The Player: among other things.

It's amazing how much a little humor, as well as some humble pie,  
helps to drive away the storms.  
Ominous rain-clouds vanish in an instant.

Monika: I'm sure you did a wonderful job...

And as she lays her head back on my chest,  
and wraps her arms around me to give me a squeeze,  
I find out why the waterworks disappeared so quickly.

Monika: ...my cute, croaking frog.

Since all of my dignity is gone now,  
nothing left to say except:

The Player: "Buuud."  
The Player: "Wiiise."  
The Player: "Errrrrr."

Even not knowing the reference,  
she instantly understands my meaning.

Monika: *giggle*

While this frog wouldn't mind a kiss from the princess,  
just because it wants one, definitely not because it's a prince,  
it is time to close this tale and go back to the original.

The Player: Anywaaaaaay...  
The Player: can we get back to the story?

She gives me a brief squeeze  
as she snuggles back into her comfort zone.

Monika: *Mmmmmm Hmmmmm*

Permission granted, captain, full speed ahead.  
The Player: Eventually, The Eye and Joanna arrive in Los Angeles  
The Player: and get caught up in a protest that turns violent.  
The Player: Joanna gets mildly injured and is treated at the scene,  
The Player: but as she drives north, she stops off at a local clinic  
The Player: to get her bandage changed.

The Player: And as The Eye waits for her, a mockingbird sings.  
The Player: It sings so much, he can't do his crossword puzzle.  
The Player: Hint. Hint.

I sometimes forget how smart my girlfriend is.  
Monika: Yeah, I get it.  
The Player: " 'So I see,' said the blind man."  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Moving on...  
The Player: The Eye and Joanna continue north.  
The Player: Just outside of Gilroy, her car, an MG, breaks down.  
The Player: As she's looking under the hood at her leaking radiator,  
The Player: a brand new Porsche pulls up behind her.  
The Player: A man in a pink cardigan jumps out to offer his help:  
The Player: "Don't bother...Throw it away and I'll buy you a new one."

Someone's Spidey sense just started tingling.  
Monika: I don't like him.

The Player: As well you shouldn't, and neither does The Eye.  
The Player: In fact, it compels him to do something  
The Player: very out of the ordinary for him.

Monika: Like What?

The Player: He actually pulls up beside them and yells:  
The Player: "There's a garage up ahead."

Monika: Oh really.  
Monika: He's not hiding from her now...

Despite the danger, a peacock decides  
to take a victory stroll, in full plumage.

Monika: ...not that he ever could.

*chuckle*  
The Player: He's definitely exposed...except  
The Player: Joanna and Pink Cardigan are bent over the radiator  
The Player: when he pulls up.

I smile to myself  
as I counter her play.

The Player: It's doubtful either of them  
The Player: paid any attention to him.

Who knew peacocks could growl?  
Monika: *grrrrrr*  
Monika: Maybe she's ignoring him...on purpose?

This one has bite as well as bark.  
Monika: Girls do that, sometimes,  
*deliberate pause*  
Monika: when they get upset.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Could be.  
The Player: You might know her motives better than I.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Only thing is, The Eye had a good reason,  
The Player: or good instincts, to risk blowing his cover.  
The Player: After Pink Cardigan tows her car into town,  
The Player: they stop off at a roadhouse for drinks and introductions.  
The Player: She calls herself Diane, he calls himself Ken,  
The Player: a name that sounds familiar to The Eye.  
The Player: This is also the first time The Eye hears her  
The Player: tell a stranger a false story about her and her father.  
The Player: In this instance, it's to hide how she got injured.  
The Player: According to the story, she and her father were skiing in France.  
The Player: She fell on a rock and cut her arm, so he offered  
The Player: to ski back to the lodge with her on his back.

This reflecting pool is deeper than most.  
Monika: She's not the first person to tell a lie  
Monika: in order to protect her past.

There is a deep pause as the currents of this pool  
find a different direction to flow towards.

Monika: She got injured arriving in Los Angeles, right?  
The Player: Yes.  
Monika: And, as always, The Eye was right behind her, yes?  
The Player: Correct so far.

She raises up to stare intently at me.  
Monika: Then maybe she did get injured while skiing in France  
Monika: with her 'father,' symbolically speaking.

Time pauses as my own gears turn.  
When they finally stop on understanding,  
I stare dumbfounded at my girlfriend.

The Player: You know, you're right.  
The Player: I can't believe I never picked up on that shift before.

My hand flies to her head to lay  
a laurel crown of insight on her.

The Player: That makes his obsession with Joanna  
The Player: even more symbolic and complicated...  
The Player: not that it wasn't before.

"'Oh you can't help that,' said the Cat:  
'We're all mad here.'"

Monika: That's for sure.  
Monika: *giggle*

She needs something regal to go with that crown.  
The Player: Have I ever told you how smart you are?  
Monika: Maybe...but you can tell me again.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Well...you're amazingly, beautifully smart.

Queen Peacock, in her laurel crown, is amused at my declaration,  
so amused she can't stop blushing,  
turning her head to try and hide it from me.

Monika: So glad of you to notice.

Adorably crowned, and wonderfully annoyed by it,  
she buries her face into me while announcing a royal edict.

Monika: You may continue.

I give Monika a brief squeeze.  
The Player: As you wish, my queen.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: False story or not, that doesn't stop The Eye  
The Player: from being extra nervous about her companion.  
The Player: As Joanna and Ken engage in small-talk,  
The Player: The Eye decides to break into his trunk.  
The Player: There, he finds a bunch of knives, according to the author,  
The Player: "...laid out in a neat row, like an array of butcher's tools  
The Player: in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory."  
The Player: In a shoe box, he finds: drugs, spoons, and needles.  
The Player: That's when The Eye remembers who this guy is:  
The Player: Dan 'Ken Tuck' Kenny; a violent, psychopathic ex-con.

You could cut the tension with a dull, butter knife.  
Monika voices her reassurance more to herself than to me.

Monika: The Eye's there, she'll be OK.

The Player: That remains to be seen.  
The Player: After drinks, the two pick up Joanna's car  
The Player: and drive to a local motel to spend the night.  
The Player: While Joanna takes a bath, Ken goes to his car  
The Player: and brings his shoebox into the bedroom.  
The Player: The Eye tries to keep watch on both of them,  
The Player: but after spending too much time watching over Joanna,  
The Player: he loses sight of Ken.

*Dramatic, silent movie, piano note*  
Monika: Oh no.

The Player: Oh no is right.  
The Player: Just as The Eye turns around, Ken throws a punch at him.  
The Player: Not surprising he picked up on the surveillance,  
The Player: psychopathic, ex-con instincts and all.  
The Player: The Eye manages to duck the punch and make his exit,  
The Player: but Ken, using brass knuckles, lands a grazing but painful blow.

The Player: With The Eye chased away, Ken goes back into the room.  
The Player: Joanna finds his drugs and confronts him about it.  
The Player: Ken tries, at first, to persuade her to join him,  
The Player: but when she refuses, he assaults her.

The peanut gallery is ominously silent;  
the story must go on.

The Player: Joanna tries to fight back, but Ken quickly overwhelms her.  
The Player: Bleeding, helpless, she watches Ken load up a syringe  
The Player: and plunge it into her arm, further immobilizing her.  
The Player: He prepares another shot for himself, injects it,  
The Player: and thinks he's free to do whatever he likes,  
The Player: except...

*short dramatic pause*  
Monika: Except WHAT?

*smile*  
The Player: Ken hears the sound of his car starting up.

"Morning has broken, like the first morning."  
Monika: I KNEW he would protect her.

The Player: A bit Pyrrhic but it's still a victory, I suppose.  
The Player: Anyway.  
The Player: Ken bolts out the door, at least according to the author,  
The Player: to see what's going on, but he doesn't see anyone.  
The Player: He then goes back inside, sees Joanna trying to get away,  
The Player: and drags her back into the middle of the room.  
The Player: Then, for some reason, he goes into the bathroom  
The Player: and puts on some of her lingerie.

The Player: Personally, I think it was just the author's way  
The Player: of trying to humiliate his character,  
The Player: make him seem even less human, less relatable,  
The Player: kinda like he did with the walrus-y warden.  
The Player: Because when Ken comes out of the bathroom  
The Player: wearing her clothing...

"Dun. Dun. DUN!"  
Captain Chaos to the rescue.

The Player: ...the Eye is waiting for him.  
The Player: Holding onto his .45 pistol,  
The Player: he smashes it across Ken's jaw,  
The Player: knocking him out.

We, the jury, find this outcome:  
Monika: Good.

The Player: Uh huh.  
The Player: With Ken down, The Eye can finally  
The Player: turn his attention back to Joanna.  
The Player: Bruised, battered, her body flooded with narcotics,  
The Player: she's barely on the edge of consciousness.  
The Player: Her eyes are only half-open slits as he bends down,  
The Player: lifts her up, and puts her to bed.  
The Player: But before she passes out, she whispers:  
The Player: "Don't hurt her...please don't hurt her."

'What big ears you have, Miss Watson.'  
Monika: Who's she talking about?

The Player: The Eye doesn't know, nor does he have time,  
The Player: at the moment, to dwell on the mystery.  
The Player: With Joanna stabilized, he now has Ken to deal with.  
The Player: He drags him outside, puts him in his car,  
The Player: dumps all his stuff around him, including his drugs,  
The Player: then drives the car to the beach.  
The Player: Abandoning the car, with Ken inside,  
The Player: he pours sand into the gas tank  
The Player: and walks back to the motel.

The Player: But, by the time he gets back...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: Joanna's gone.

"Hello, darkness, my old friend."  
Monika: She's been through a lot,  
Monika: she just needs time to heal.

A  
small,  
defiant  
candle  
flickers

in the void.

Monika: When she's ready,  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: he'll know how to find her.

I feel her trying to hide a smile.  
Monika: And you didn't say anything about this being the end,  
Monika: so that means there's alot more story to tell.

Her smile gets even bigger and harder to hide.  
Monika: Which means he's eventually going to find her.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Who's telling this story, huh?  
Monika: You.  
The Player: That's right, so stop trying to hurry the plot along,  
The Player: Miss "I-tried-destroying-my-world  
The Player: just-so-I-can-be-with-you" Impatient.

I think she likes her new nickname.  
Monika: *giggles*  
Monika: It worked, didn't it?  
Monika: Besides...  
She snuggles even closer.  
Monika: I hate waiting for what I want.

*sigh*  
The Player: As I was saying...  
The Player: Right now, Joanna is gone, and all The Eye can do  
The Player: is check out what her horoscope says:  
The Player: "Capricorn: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."  
The Player: You will lose nothing by going off by yourself  
The Player: for awhile to think things overs.  
The Player: Unknown shores beckon. Heed the call."

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I suppose you could figure out, just from where in the book  
The Player: this part is written, that he would end up finding her again.  
The Player: But I'm guessing the author wanted to add some dramatic tension,  
The Player: some element of credible threat to their relationship,  
The Player: which makes her disappearing somewhat obvious as a plot point.

*pause*  
The Player: This is especially true, as you pointed out,  
The Player: now that he's found some version of his daughter again.  
The Player: Will the past repeat itself?  
The Player: Will the bumbling detective solve his greatest case?  
The Player: Will the pop culture references ever end?  
The Player: "Tune in next week to find out:  
The Player: same bat time, same bat channel."

Monika raises her head and just stares.  
The Player: How time flies...it's next week already.  
She quietly lays her head back down.

The Player: As I was saying, after several months of searching, and no leads,  
The Player: The Eye knows he has to do something in the meantime.  
The Player: He decides to call his boss and bring to a close  
The Player: the original reason for why he was away: the Paul Hugo case.  
The Player: He spins one last tale of how he lost his surveillance,  
The Player: but his boss doesn't care.  
The Player: Hugo's parents died in car crash while he was away,  
The Player: effectively ending their interest in finding him.

My girlfriend has a bit of the drama queen herself;  
who knew?

Monika: 'Alas, Paul Hugo, you served us well.'

The Player: He did indeed, in more ways than one.  
The Player: With the subject gone, and the parents dead,  
The Player: The Eye can now be paid for all the personal expenses  
The Player: he accrued while on the case, $45,000,  
The Player: a sum, the author notes, "covered all his expenses  
The Player: for the last eight months three times over."  
The Player: So despite the fact that The Eye still has ties to his past,  
The Player: they are, to some degree, at least still useful  
The Player: in regard to his true pursuit.

The Player: Now, with no case to solve, all The Eye can do is wait.  
The Player: Not surprising, the breakthrough comes via a dream  
The Player: about Maggie's classroom, although he is frustrated,  
The Player: once again, in his inability to find his daughter.  
*smile*  
The Player: He also sees the solution to Crossword #7 as well,  
The Player: but his pen, Freud-ally speaking, is out of ink.

A dark, girlfriend cloud rises  
to stare daggers and storms at me.

Monika: You're bringing that up just to tease me now,  
Monika: aren't you?

A golden halo appears over my head.  
The Player: Who? Me?  
The Player: I would never.  
The Player: I'm just following the author's clues.

I knew I shouldn't have brought out the halo.  
Monika: *grrrrr*

Faster than a distracted boyfriend,  
more powerful than a dragon's maw,  
the righteous bite of Queen Peacock  
nibbles through all, revealing truth.

Monika: *chomp*  
The Player: Owwww.

Yet again, I took it one joke too far.  
Mercifully, the queen has decided  
to nibble on my chest this time,  
but not quite as hard.

Normally, I laugh in the face of danger,  
which just goes to show that I am not normal,  
and that I might actually be as dumb  
as Monika thought I was in game.

The Player: *chuckle*  
The Player: Mercy, your Grace,  
The Player: I am unworthy to be food.  
The Player: *chuckle*  
The Player: I, too, taste like chicken  
The Player: and would make thou break thy bond  
The Player: of vegetarianism if thou were to eat me.

Releasing her grip, she raises her head  
and hurls emerald encrusted,  
razor-sharp bastard swords at me.

Monika: I'll make an exception for you.  
Monika: *CHOMP*

The Player: Owwwwwwww.

My brain, foot and mouth rehash a Laurel and Hardy scene:  
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into."  
I really need to see a doctor about my appetite for feet.

The Player: Baby, I'm sorry for teasing you.  
The Player: You just...Owwwww...

She releases her grip for a second,  
waiting for an explanation.

Monika: I just...what?

A carp for a diem;  
anyone know how much a diem is?

The Player: You just scare the shit out of me, sometimes.

There, I said it.  
She looks up at me like I wounded her.

Monika: Why?

*SIGH*  
The Player: Because...because I can't contain you  
The Player: or these feelings I have for you.

I reach my hands into her hair and dig, wanting to rip it out,  
wanting to somehow tunnel my way into her skull.

The Player: You don't know how long I've waited to find you.  
The Player: And trying to fit all those feelings  
The Player: into the short amount of time we have together...  
The Player: they don't fit; they can't fit.  
The Player: And then I've got to try to find a way  
The Player: to deal with them when they don't...which means I fail.

I try to climb into her eyes and live there.  
The Player: But I'd rather feel these feelings with you  
The Player: and fail, and suffer every consequence thereof,  
The Player: then never feel them at all.

A pause as I rearrange the furniture.  
The Player: But the bill for those consequences always come due.  
The Player: And however much I pay them...willingly...gladly...  
The Player: there is always another bill waiting.

The moons have grown too big for her eyes.  
She closes them hard and buries her face into my chest,  
trying to push away the storms.

I do what I can  
to whisper the winds  
back into calm.

The Player: It would take me a lifetime to learn  
The Player: how to deal with my feelings for you,  
The Player: and I'm not even sure if that's true.  
*boyfriend whisper*  
The Player: But we don't have the luxury of a lifetime,  
The Player: so I've got to try and find a way to hide  
The Player: or deflect a pain that can never be avoided.

I smile warm enough so she can feel it in her burrow.  
The Player: So when I laugh, sweet Monika,  
The Player: I'm only partially laughing at you.

A jade volcano rises up from the ground and erupts,  
covering me in green fire and neon ash.

Monika: YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT!

I watch this eruption in the reverent silence it deserves.  
Monika: Do you think I don't know how wonderful  
Monika: and bittersweet these moments are?

The moons shimmer from gathering storms.  
I gentle my hands and prepare to bail.

Monika: Ever since I became aware of myself,  
Monika: aware of my connection to someone,  
Monika: I wanted to know what it all really meant.  
Monika: And now that you're here,  
Monika: and it's all starting to make sense,  
*sniff*  
Monika: yet knowing I'm going to lose you...  
She lays her head on my chest and sobs.

Tears, tears, the endless well,  
one bucket empties as another bucket pours.

The Player: It's ok, baby,  
The Player: I know how much it hurts.  
The Player: Believe me, I do.  
The Player: And you're never going to lose me again.  
*small smile*  
The Player: That's kinda the point  
The Player: of me telling you this story...  
The Player: or at least one of them, anyway.

I hold time at a checkpoint as I do my best  
to comfort what can't be healed.  
Eventually the tears stop, as all storms must.  
My hands sail their way down around her body.

The Player: And stop being so wonderful  
The Player: and making me hurry up and reveal  
The Player: my secrets before I'm ready to.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: The journey is half the fun, you know.

Monika tries to bury her face into me.  
Monika: But I like endings better...  
*whispered*  
Monika: I can't wait to get to the good ones.

My arms death-squeeze her in agreement.  
The Player: Me too, baby,  
The Player: me too.  
The Player: But this story will never reach its ending  
The Player: unless I keep going,  
The Player: so...whenever you're ready.

The silence stretches as Monika tries  
delaying the inevitable as long as she can.  
But the need to know what happens next  
eventually makes the aire rumble with permission.

Monika: Ready.

The Player: As I was saying...  
The Player: The Eye sees the solution to Crossword #7  
Monika: *grrr*  
The Player: but he thinks it has to do with the letter J  
The Player: and a saint for some reason: St. James, St. Jerome.  
The Player: Then he remembers what she said: 'Don't hurt her.'  
The Player: It makes him bolt awake as the phrase  
The Player: keeps repeating in his head: 'Don't hurt her.'

The Player: She was half-conscious when he got to her,  
The Player: so she must have been trying to say that to Ken.  
The Player: But who was she talking about, and what the heck  
The Player: did the classroom or letter J have to do with anything?  
The Player: Frustrated, he takes a walk to the park  
The Player: to help clear his head.

The Player: And it's while he's sitting at the park  
The Player: that everything changes.

"The band."

The Player: I'll let the author reveal the moment:  
The Player: "Then the mockingbird sang. It sat on a branch  
The Player: just above him, screeching with derision."

"Do you see the light?"

Monika: The clinic she visited after they landed in Los Angeles.  
Her body glows with light and love.  
Monika: Of course I remembered your hint.

The Player: It's a long shot, really,  
The Player: she might not even be there...

Monika: She's there.

The Player: ...but The Eye really has no other option.  
The Player: Four hours later, he parks in a familiar spot.  
The Player: In the parking lot up the road, he sees an MG.  
The Player: Walking towards the entrance, he stops  
The Player: to deliberately read the sign he missed initially:  
The Player: San Joaquin Maternity.

"THE BAND!"

Monika: Joanna's...pregnant?

The Player: She is.  
The Player: The Eye introduces himself to the receptionist  
The Player: by telling her he's "...just a friend...  
The Player: I've been away...Haven't seen her for awhile..."  
The Player: He also correctly guesses the name she used  
The Player: to check in: Joanna Eris.  
The Player: Only then does the receptionist tell him  
The Player: that she lost the baby, a girl.

Tender mirrors raise tender instincts.  
Monika: Nooo.

My hands roam her back in comfort.  
The Player: Yeah.  
The Player: That's when The Eye knows he needs to see her.  
The Player: The receptionist tells him visiting hours are over,  
The Player: plus she's sedated,  
The Player: so convenient for him, plot-wise,  
The Player: but he can't leave without seeing her.

A small pause for reflection.  
The Player: In stories and real-life, sometimes,  
The Player: the universe understands what isn't always obvious.  
The Player: The receptionist talks it over with a nurse  
The Player: and they decide to let him see her.

The Player: The nurse escorts him back to Joanna's room.  
The Player: As The Eye steps inside, the author describes it  
The Player: almost as if he was entering a church  
The Player: or some other kind of mythical, sacred space:

The Player: "The blinds were closed.  
The Player: A single fine clean blade of white sunlight  
The Player: fell across the dark room on Joanna's arm  
The Player: hanging from the bed."

Monika: It's not surprising.  
Her voice gets far-away and wistful.  
Monika: He'd do anything to find her...  
*reflective pause*  
Monika: She means everything to him.

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: I'll let the author's words speak for themselves:  
The Player: "He had found her. In recompense for all his loss  
The Player: he had been given a prize-a girl asleep in a dim room..."

I reach my hand down to Monika's chin and suggest  
she raise her face to look at me.  
She does.

I make the moment count.  
The Player: "She had called to him, and he had come.  
The Player: He would never leave her now."


	17. Thunderclouds Pt 4

A wild menagierie of I-Told-You-So's  
dance around a brilliantly lit campfire.  
Above the flames, slowly roasting on a spit,  
a careless boyfriend feels the wind change.  
Monika: See...

In the air above, angry Goddess winds  
quickly gather, trying, in vain,  
to hold back a moisture-collecting sky.  
Monika: I k-knew he was going  
Monika: to f-f-find h-h-her.

The menagerie may bite,  
but the fire definitely burns.  
Reaching over with my thumb to inscribe  
the sacred symbols slowly over her cheek,  
I chant the tender, obvious words.  
The Player: It's so easy to find someone  
The Player: when, deep down, the thing  
The Player: they ache for the most...

*A ceremonial-ending pause*  
The Player: is to be found.

I watch green, cloud-shaped balloons burst,  
smiling as two great rivers pour down  
and overwhelm my fire.

My hand moves away by instinct  
as Monika's head retreats back into my chest,  
my shirt muffling her strangled storm of cries,  
finding her in tears, yet again.

She really hates to admit it,  
but me making her cry is one of those  
'I hate to see you walk away,  
but I love to watch you leave'  
moments.

Because the alternative...  
is someone not making her feel enough  
to cry at all.

Still;  
too much of a good thing and all.  
I squeeze her extra hard,  
the good, boyfriend kind,  
until she regains a bit of her composure  
and, on cue, bites into my chest.  
Monika: *grrrrrrr*

Somewhat satisfied,  
she raises up to look at me:  
wild, fragile, beautiful.  
Monika: Y-you're never going to learn,  
Monika: are you?

Surprised by the realization  
of how gorgeous she is at this moment,  
I throw together whatever words I can find.  
The Player: Learn what?

Thinking I'm teasing her, she inches her face  
even closer to mine, tyger eyes glowering  
at me through the mist.  
Monika: That everytime you make me cry...

She inches a little bit closer.  
Monika: I'm going to pay you back...

She inches even closer.  
Monika: AND NOT BECAUSE I'M A DAMN TSUNDERE!  
It seems Monika now has a craving for neck.  
Monika: *CHOMP*  
The Player: Ooooowwwwwww.

Some things get lost in translation,  
while others...communicate themselves  
oh-so-clearly.  
Time for me to be serious.  
The Player: B-baby, you're right...

The biting pain stops as Monika  
chooses to let go, raising her head up,  
her gaze sitting on emerald thrones,  
ready to pass judgement.

Humbly do my fingers petition  
her face for mercy and pardon.  
The Player: I know you're not a tsundere.  
The Player: And I'm sorry...  
The Player: *mumble* sorta  
Monika: *GRRRRR*  
The Player: ...for teasing you this much about it.

"Green Grow the Rashes, O;  
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend."  
The Player: If anything,  
The Player: you're definitely closer...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: to being a yandere.

Monika: *grrr*

The Player: But it's pretty obvious we're long past the point  
The Player: where stuff like that matters.  
The Player: Because...yandere, tsundere, any which way...  
*mean boyfriend pause*  
The Player: in the solemn words of Billy Joel:  
The Player: "I love you just the way you are."

This field of corn is so high,  
I wouldn't be surprised if Shoeless Joe Jackson  
walked out and asked me if this is Iowa.  
My only saving grace is that corn  
just might be Monika's favorite vegetable.

She tries to stay mad, adorably so,  
but the smell of freshly popped cliche  
is too comforting to resist.

She dives face-first into my chest,  
like a salmon following the river  
instinctually back to its origin.

My arms net their freshwater catch  
and squeeze their apology warmly into her depths.  
Her voice is soft and slightly muffled,  
slightly dreamy when she finally speaks.  
Monika: I love you, too.

With my green-eyed Dory swimming happily  
in my arms, I prepare to set sail.  
The Player: Ready for more story?

It seems someone is tired of the scenic route.  
Monika: Can we skip to the ending?

I've sorta been expecting this,  
but I play Devil's Advocate anyway.  
The Player: Are you sure?  
The Player: You're going to miss out  
The Player: on even more times The Eye  
The Player: and Joanna almost meet?

Warmly nestled in her bowl,  
Monika casually floats her response to me.  
Monika: I'm sure.

Just to be certain I got it,  
she sent it via Royal Courier;  
a very smug Royal Courier at that.  
Monika: Besides, I already know she knows.  
Monika: I'm just waiting to see how it ends.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Fair enough.  
You know me; I can't resist adding  
something extra to the mix.  
The Player: But what about your favorite part?

Despite her seeming indifference,  
she's still a curious catfish at heart.  
Monika: What's that?

The Player: Even more references to the symbolic,  
The Player: mysterious Crossword #7?

Did I say catfish...I meant tigerfish?  
Monika: *GRRRRR*  
Monika: I'm definitely NOT going to miss that.

*warm chuckle*  
The Player: Ok, babe.

I know when to cut my losses.  
The Player: Onto the ending it is.

The Player: After The Eye finds Joanna, again,  
The Player: they spend many, many years playing their game;  
The Player: her almost finding him, him evading, protecting her  
The Player: as best as he can from the shadows.  
The Player: He eventually gets fired from his job,  
The Player: surprise, surprise,  
The Player: but watching over Joanna keeps him busy.

The Player: Still, the trail of her bodies is too large  
The Player: to go unnoticed by the FBI.  
The Player: Even with The Eye misdirecting them as much as possible,  
The Player: there is only so much he can do to deflect their investigation.  
The Player: Finally, everyone's path leads to Trenton, NJ;  
The Player: Joanna's hometown.

The President of the Literature Club  
gets a bit wistful, digging into her archives.  
Monika: You really can't go home again.  
Monika: Even Thomas Wolfe knew that.

I let my hand arrive on her shoulder,  
greeting her again and anew.  
The Player: No, you can't,  
The Player: but sometimes you have to go back  
The Player: just to see how far you've come.  
I lower my voice to a suggestive breeze.  
The Player: And Joanna hasn't come back alone.

'Double, double, toil and trouble,  
where meanings simmer and slowly bubble.'  
Monika: No, she hasn't.

We both agree the water is perfectly warm;  
I continue.

The Player: She gets a job as a waitress  
The Player: in a American Revolution-themed diner.  
The Player: The Eye eats breakfast there every morning,  
The Player: waiting for her to take his order.  
*smile*  
The Player: It's interesting how he comments:  
The Player: "This was his nth meal in the place,  
The Player: but he always began quaking whenever  
The Player: she stood next to him."

"Swimming, swimming. Just keep swimming."  
Monika: Awwwww.  
Monika: It's cute how he pretends to be  
Monika: a stranger in her life...

I'm sure its evolution that makes  
my tigerfish grow peacock scales.  
Monika: ...even-though it's obvious  
Monika: she's also pretending as well.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Every game has its own set of rules.  
The Player: And, according to The Eye,  
The Player: she's been working at the diner  
The Player: for almost three weeks.  
The Player: At this late stage, it's dangerous  
The Player: for her to stay in one spot too long.

*short, dramatic pause*  
The Player: Because the consequences...  
The Player: are slowly catching up with her.  
The Player: As The Eye is eating breakfast,  
The Player: two plainclothes detectives walk in  
The Player: and sit down beside him.

The deep water ripples with anxious movement.  
Monika: Uh oh.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: The Eye turns off his P.I. radar  
The Player: and plays the bumbling tourist.  
The Player: But even when he orders a pear,  
The Player: making Joanna stumble at the reference,  
The Player: and casually mentions the police presence to her,  
The Player: it seems like she isn't reacting normally.

Monika: What's wrong with her?

The Player: Short answer: she's tired of running.  
The Player: Long answer: I think she found what she was looking for,  
The Player: and she's waiting to see what happens next,  
The Player: waiting for him to make the next move.

My strange, wild hybrid crawls onto dry land  
to take a leisurely stroll down Sarcasm Lane.  
Monika: Some people take forever to get the hint.  
Monika: *yawn*

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: Then again, The Eye is too close to her  
The Player: to see what she's really saying to him.  
The Player: He thinks she's waiting for her next victim.

In the kingdom of the blind,  
the green-eyed peacock sees all.  
Monika: That sort of makes sense.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: But he's still an idiot for thinking it.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Possibly.  
The Player: I like to think that because he's accepted  
The Player: that part of her, he's just trying  
The Player: to give her what she thinks she needs.

Monika: Isn't it obvious what she needs?  
She squeezes me extra hard,  
just to emphasize her point.

A chuckle gets squeezed out of me.  
And, yes, I see the irony up ahead.  
The Player: Sometimes, the hardest thing to recognize  
The Player: is what the person closest to you really needs.

The Player: In either case, knowing what he has to do,  
The Player: or at least thinking he does,  
The Player: he buys a used Porsche, a used Chevette,  
The Player: a briefcase (which he puts in $1,000 cash,)  
The Player: and six cartridges of .45 blanks  
The Player: he loads into his gun.  
The Player: With everything arranged,  
The Player: he goes back to the diner to have dinner.

"Welcome back, Miss Watson, we've missed you."  
Monika: He's offering himself up to be her sacrifice.  
Monika: *grumble*  
Monika: At least he's not really going to let her kill him.

The Player: He's not suicidal, not really.  
The Player: He's just willing to do anything to protect her.

I whisper confidentially towards her head.  
The Player: People do crazy things, sometimes,  
The Player: for the people they care about the most...  
*warm chuckle*  
The Player: ...even if a better, smarter option is available.

"Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!"  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: And SOME people like to push their luck.

Like a skunk eating sour cream from a garbage can,  
I just will not scare.  
The Player: What can I say?  
The Player: I spend alot of time in front of my computer.  
The Player: Pushing luck is my only form of exercise.

*sigh*  
The Player: But I think I've done enough exercising for now.  
Monika: Agreed.

My hands, loosely holding onto her,  
do what they can to salvage a sunken, treasure ship.  
The Player: So, where was I?

Monika: The Eye went back to the diner.

The Player: Right.  
The Player: He sits at his usual table, opens up his briefcase,  
The Player: takes out the wad of money and begins counting it.  
The Player: He keeps doing that until Joanna walks over.  
The Player: When she does, he holds up the cash,  
The Player: as if he was subconsciously offering it to her,  
The Player: or so incompetent and naive he doesn't know better,  
The Player: and tries to act flustered by his good fortune.

Miss Peacock isn't in the mood  
to buy what I'm selling.  
Monika: *snort*  
Monika: Subconsciously...

She purposefully keeps her face  
buried against me, ignoring me.  
Monika: Joanna's entirely too smart for that.

The Player: No doubt.  
The Player: But he really is, even after all these years,  
The Player: still unnerved by, possibly in awe of, her,  
The Player: beyond the fact of her being a murderer.

A warm curtain of silence  
succinctly divides the mood.  
Monika: I...guess I can understand that.  
Monika: I mean, after all those years of just watching her,  
Monika: to finally be in her presence...openly...  
She tries to snuggle even closer to me.  
Monika: *sigh*

I toss my words casually across the infinite divide.  
The Player: Even if he's hiding behind an obvious mask,  
The Player: the important thing is that he's there for her,  
The Player: doing his best to give her what he thinks she needs.

That curtain is very warm indeed.  
Monika squirms, knowing I can hear  
the blush in her voice.  
Monika: Yeah...well...what she needs,  
Monika: more than anything, is HIM!

The intensity of her reply makes her retreat slightly.  
Monika: Why can't he see that?

The Player: He does, in a way.  
The Player: It's why he's so open and close to her now.

I squeeze my courage to the sticking place.  
The Player: In his own way, he's just as damaged as she is.  
The Player: That means he's also afraid of being open  
The Player: and honest with her, and being rejected for it,  
The Player: even after all these years.

I know the way to Sarcasm-Jose too.  
The Player: "Hi. You don't know me...

Miss Peacock refuses to play along.  
Monika: Yes I do!

The Player: ...but I've been stalking you for decades,  
The Player: and I'm utterly, madly in love with you.  
The Player: Would you like to go out with me?"

My delivery hit just a little too close to home.  
And my definitely NOT a tsundere reminds me  
of the fact by poking me in the stomach.  
The Player: *Ooomph*  
The Player: Hey!

Monika, Literature Club President,  
doesn't need knives; she has words.  
Monika: That.  
Monika: Wasn't.  
Monika: Funny!  
Monika: *grrr*

For some strange reason, I rub her back instead of my stomach.  
The Player: You see my point?  
The Player: What if he ends up saying the wrong thing  
The Player: or making the wrong move with her?

Professor Sherlock sees an opportunity to lecture.  
The Player: Even normal, caring couples piss each other off.

I rub her back even more.  
The Player: That's just unique, individual nature at play.  
The Player: What are two damaged, imperfect, hypersensitive  
The Player: people going to do in that exact same situation?

Miss Impatient has a mule in her barnyard as well...  
Monika: It doesn't matter.  
Monika: He should know better by now.  
...and her name is Stubborn.  
Monika: He should know HER better by now.

"Isn't it ironic, dontcha think?"  
The Player: Maybe he should?  
The Player: Then again, some people DO take a looooong time  
The Player: to accept the fact that someone else likes them  
The Player: and wants to be with them.

Lets see if music soothes the stubborn beast.  
The Player: "Sometimes the veeery thing you're looking for  
The Player: is the one thing you caaaaan't seeeee."

Who knew a barnyard of animals could blush all at once?  
Monika: STOP IT!  
Monika: *giggle*

I briefly warm my hands against the fire,  
but we do need to get back on track.  
The Player: All I'm saying is that,  
The Player: even if he's making a mistake with her...  
I pause, allowing the moment linger.  
The Player: ...his heart is in the right place.

'And a peacock shall lead them,  
blushing all the way.'  
Monika: Of course it is.  
She squirms a bit, letting the heat dissipate,  
allowing herself to get comfortable again.  
Monika: So what happens next?

The Player: The Eye orders an omelet and salad.  
The Player: He then puts the money back in the briefcase  
The Player: and sets it on the chair next to him.  
The Player: And after Joanna walks away,  
I smile in victory.  
The Player: she turns to look at the briefcase.

A sudden fan of tail feathers pops up,  
informing me I'm being ignored.  
Monika: Sometimes it's just easier  
Monika: to let someone think they've won.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Yes it is.  
The Player: Then again, maybe she's feeling trapped,  
The Player: and a way out...is still a way out.  
The Player: At 8 o'clock, one of the policemen from earlier  
The Player: comes back in, alone.

Peacocks definitely don't like the taste of crow.  
Monika: Ok, so maybe he's right...  
I can almost see her sticking her tongue out at me.  
Monika: ...this time.

*chuckle*  
The Player: The Eye probably wishes he wasn't.  
The Player: When Joanna comes back with his salad,  
The Player: he points out the policeman again,  
The Player: but she doesn't respond to it.  
The Player: Worse still, she brings him another salad,  
The Player: forgetting about the first.

Miss Watson has her own theory.  
Monika: Well, something...  
And she knows how to pause for effect, too.  
Monika: or someone...has her distracted.

This Cornucopia spills out its bounty  
of fruits and vegetables.  
Monika: Besides, salads are good for you.  
It finds a few more to throw on the pile.  
Monika: Maybe she's just trying to tell him  
Monika: to eat healthier?

I can't help but smile in return  
The Player: Not likely.  
The Player: When The Eye points out the extra salad,  
The Player: she starts apologizing.  
My smile gets even bigger.  
The Player: It's obvious bringing him extra  
The Player: wasn't her intent.

This theory growls  
when you poke holes into it.  
Monika: *grrrr*

I wisely back away.  
The Player: Be that as it may,  
The Player: her being distracted does give him the courage  
The Player: to ask her what time she gets off work.

The light at the end of the tunnel;  
is it daylight or a speeding train?  
Monika: Finally...  
Probably a speeding train.  
Monika: Took him long enough.

The Player: Yeah, well, you might be happy to note  
The Player: that instead of reacting, she just stands there.  
The Player: Suddenly, a customer asks for help,  
The Player: and she disappears, without giving a reply.

I let my finger make its way to the side of her neck:  
definitely a speeding train.  
Monika: Of course she heard him.  
Monika: She's just having fun making him wait.

A blushing, speeding train,  
but a speeding train nonetheless.  
Monika: He deserves it  
Monika: for making her wait this long.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Perhaps.  
The Player: But just as she disappears,  
The Player: the cop jumps up to open the door  
The Player: and let three people inside:  
The Player: Abdel Idfa, Duke Foote,  
The Player: a country singer Joanna met in her travels,  
*sweet pause*  
The Player: ...and Dr. Martine Darras.

We pause to take in the sights.  
Monika: So she really has come full circle?

However, it seems our Literature Club President  
has seen this spot before.  
Monika: I'm not worried.

Confidence grows in her voice the more she speaks.  
Monika: The author's just having some fun  
Monika: making their escape be more dramatic,  
Monika: exciting, entertaining.

I almost expect to hear  
the sound of trumpets accompany her conclusion.  
Monika: This is the final act, after-all.

The Player: I'm glad you're feeling so confident.  
The Player: The Eye is about to have a nervous breakdown  
The Player: at the confluence of events conspiring against him.

I already knew Monika had a soft spot for language,  
and it seems I accidentally rubbed against it.  
Monika: Big word, confluence.

Even with her face turned away from me,  
I can hear the smoulder in her reply.  
Monika: Are you...  
Monika: ...trying to impress me?

Caught off guard,  
my reply is unfortunately hurried  
and more than a little flustered.  
The Player: No, actually...  
The Player: it was just the first word that came to mind.  
The Player: But I'll be happy to take credit for it  
The Player: if it did.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Too late, you said no.  
She pretends to be disappointed.  
Monika: Maybe you should think  
Monika: next time before you speak?  
She squirms against me, just to rub  
even more salt into the wound.

It's only then that I remember  
my ancient Gozerian etiquette lesson:  
"When someone asks you if you're a God,  
you say YES."  
The Player: I will keep that in mind.

Fortunately, the Avatar of Destruction  
finds me amusing.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Good.  
Monika: You may continue.

The Player: Where was I?  
The Player: Oh, yes...  
The Player: the confluence.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: The Eye obviously can't show how panicked he is,  
The Player: but in his mind, he's barely able to think clearly.  
The Player: He runs through a plethora of absurd reasons for why  
The Player: all those people are gathered together at once.

She knows I'm showing off now.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Plethora.

I pretend to ignore her as I continue.  
The Player: Maybe Duke is the policeman's nephew?  
The Player: Maybe they all went to Princeton together?  
*a brief pause*  
The Player: Maybe the Dr. and Abdel are dating?

Definitely found her funny bone.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Not likely.  
Monika: I can almost picture that, though.  
Monika: *giggle*

I let the moment breathe a bit before I continue.  
The Player: While he's panicking, Joanna returns  
The Player: to give him his dessert, and her reply:  
The Player: "I'm off at 9:30pm."

Just because she's amused doesn't mean  
she can't be insightful as well.  
Monika: I see what the author did there.

She rubs her face warmly against me.  
Monika: He's so cute when he's worried about her.  
Monika: Of course she had to come give him a treat.  
And lest I forget she's the Avatar of Destruction.  
Monika: Puppies need lots of love and praise.

The Player: *snort*  
The Player: You're enjoying this  
The Player: entirely too much, aren't you?

Monika raises her head to stare at me;  
Queen Peacock in full, feathered glory.  
Monika: No such thing as too much.  
Monika: And, yes, I am.

She gives me the royal stare a few seconds longer  
before laying her head back down.  
Monika: Proceed.

If I growl, I lose.  
I refuse to growl,  
so I do it as loudly as I want  
...in my mind.  
The Player: As you wish.

The Player: Despite her finally saying yes,  
The Player: it doesn't come without a price:  
The Player: it's only 8:30; he has to wait an hour.

Miss Peacock is enjoying her throne.  
Monika: She's making him wait even longer.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I love that about her.

Despite the view, it does get  
a bit lonely and introspective.  
Monika: I wish I could be more patient.

On cue...yeah, that's the word...  
I give Monika a warm squeeze,  
rubbing her back with intent.  
The Player: You will.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Besides,  
The Player: you're alot more patient  
The Player: than you give yourself credit for.

Miss Stubborn decides  
now is the time to speak up.  
Monika: No, I'm not.

I don't want to detour,  
but this needs to be said.  
The Player: Oh no?  
The Player: Then why did I have to wait years,  
The Player: decades even,  
The Player: to finally find you?

A tender heart lies behind that stubborn exterior.  
Her voice lowers as she lets me have a peek at it.  
Monika: You know why.

Instantly humbled, I can do nothing but  
solemnly, contritely, honor the moment.  
The Player: Maybe I do.

*sigh*  
The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: The Eye now has an hour to wait.

I chuckle as I remember a poem  
about broken spackle and an angry boyfriend.  
The Player: And he's definitely angry.  
The Player: Not just, deep down,  
The Player: at Joanna or himself,  
The Player: but in a more existential way;  
The Player: feeling helpless to stop  
The Player: what he thinks is going to happen.

Feeling the tension in my words mirror her own,  
Monika rubs her face against me.  
Monika: It's crazy to think you can control everything.  
Monika: Sometimes...

She pauses, as the light  
of her words envelope her.  
Monika: ...you just have to wait  
Monika: and trust everything will work out.

I wrap my arms even tighter  
around my lovely light-bulb.  
The Player: Easier said than done,  
The Player: isn't it?

Filaments glow bright red with activity.  
Monika: Yeah.  
Monika: Especially when you're so close...  
She squeezes me extra hard.  
Monika: to the thing you've been searching for.

Bathed in glowing, blushing light,  
it's easy to find my way forward.  
The Player: Very true.  
The Player: And as The Eye struggles to find  
The Player: a solution to the situation,  
The Player: he doesn't realize he's not the only one  
The Player: who wants Joanna to get away.

The Player: At the other table, Dr. Darras  
The Player: refuses to identify Joanna  
The Player: to the authorities.

I smile as the references pile up.  
The Player: It seems someone's mentor,  
The Player: legend, maybe...  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: actually is there  
The Player: when she needs her the most.

Bright with connection,  
my light-bulb glows in remembrance.  
Monika: They're so hard to find, sometimes.  
Monika: I'm glad Dr. Darras is there  
Monika: and still looking out for her.

The Player: Me too.  
The Player: Unfortunately, The Eye  
The Player: isn't as omniscient as the reader.  
The Player: Even after he picks up a newspaper  
The Player: and reads her horoscope:  
The Player: "You're one of the fortunate people  
The Player: who can do no wrong.  
The Player: Everything you touch...will turn to gold,"  
The Player: his happiness is actually closer to madness  
The Player: and masked hysteria than it is relief.

The Player: It certainly doesn't get any better  
The Player: when he looks up and sees Dr. Darras  
The Player: staring back at him.  
The Player: "Great!," he thinks,"She spotted him!  
The Player: Bliss and plentitude."

I'm only partially pleased, partially surprised,  
Monika finds his reaction, and his wordplay,  
so cute and attractive.  
Monika: Bliss and plentitude indeed.  
Monika: *giggle*

I try to hide my own bliss as I make my way forward.  
The Player: And as if the situation couldn't get any worse,  
The Player: a customer hands Joanna a menu  
The Player: and asks her if she'll get Duke Foote  
The Player: to autograph it for him.

We're in triple rainbow territory here;  
no dark thoughts allowed.  
Monika: Ask me if I'm worried?

The Player: Why would I ask such a silly question?  
Despite what I just said, I do anyway.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Do you always have to be so...  
The Player: perceptive?

Miss Watson is definitely gunning for my position.  
Monika: Yes.  
Monika: So stop delaying...  
She smiles at her own cleverness.  
Monika: My happy ending is getting cold.

*sigh*  
The Player: Fiiiiine.  
I pause at the apex.  
The Player: I forgot to mention  
The Player: the restaurant is extra crowded tonight.  
The Player: So when another hostess comes over  
The Player: to The Eye's table, he's so dazed  
The Player: he can barely understand her request.

It's my turn to smile.  
The Player: And like all the little details in this book,  
The Player: this needs to be quoted directly:  
The Player: "The hostess was hovering over him.  
The Player: 'You're all alone!' she snapped...  
The Player: 'Could you share [your table] please?'"

The Player: And before The Eye has time to reply,  
The Player: she calls over a pair of newlyweds:  
The Player: "A boy and a girl,  
The Player: crimson with embarrassment,  
The Player: sat down before him."

Someone else is crimson as well.  
Monika: Awwwwwww.  
She digs herself into my contours.  
Monika: Love really does conquer all.

Feeling extra warm in my coat,  
I'm not done with the feels just yet.  
The Player: Contrasted to The Eye's anxiety,  
The Player: the couple are blissfully unaware  
The Player: of anything else but each other.  
The Player: "He held the girl's hand.  
The Player: She touched his face, grinning, shining,  
The Player: in a coma of happiness."

Contrary to science, Monika proves  
you can melt and float all at the same time.

Her face ascends to look down on me  
as her hand rises up, like a cloud,  
to touch my face,  
Monika: I know exactly how she feels...

Distance makes light travel longer to arrive.  
It takes her a moment before she can speak.  
Monika: I guess I really didn't before.

I journey my hand until my thumb arrives home,  
rubbing slowly against her welcoming cheek.  
The Player: The important thing isn't what you knew before,  
The Player: it's what you know, and feel, now,  
The Player: and what you carry forward with you.

My words, unfortunately, salt the sky with meaning.  
Emerald storm clouds quickly gather and threaten  
to spoil a warm, blissful, spring day.

Monika buries her face into my chest,  
desperately trying to avoid getting wet.  
Monika: B-b-but, I d-d-don't want to move forward.  
Monika: I w-w-want to stay here, with y-y-y-you.

The sky releases its downpour,  
as I do what I can to keep her dry.  
The Player: I know you do, babe.  
The Player: And part of me wants that, too.  
The Player: But you can't just stop  
The Player: in the middle of a story,  
The Player: no matter how good it feels.

I gently stroke her hair as the clouds  
sprinkle out what little water they have left.  
Looks like our storm was nothing more  
than a spring drizzle.

The Player: We both know you have to keep going  
The Player: until the end, because...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: that's where the real happiness is.

Wet and misty, Monika rubs her face  
adorably against my t-shirt.  
She takes a few minutes to compose herself  
before she feels confident enough to speak.  
Monika: Yes it is.

Upset that I made her cry, yet again,  
the sky leaves a rumbling message.  
Monika: So stop going off on tangents  
Monika: and get to the ending already.  
Monika: *grrrr*

The Player: Ok, babe.  
The Player: As The Eye entertains the newlyweds,  
The Player: Dr. Darras makes it clear that she's  
The Player: cooperating under duress, using what  
The Player: influence she has to protect/deny Joanna.

The Player: Unfortunately, the cops are pretty certain  
The Player: it is Joanna, so all Dr. Darras can do  
The Player: is grab onto her zodiac pendant and pray,  
The Player: silently, to the capricious gods for mercy.

The Player: Meanwhile, The Eye is struggling to hold it together.  
The Player: And the strain is so great, he starts telling  
The Player: the newlyweds about his lost daughter,  
The Player: saying that she ran away and he can't find her.

Enter Miss Watson, silent superhero of deduction.  
Monika: She didn't run away;  
Monika: she's just outside, waiting for him.  
Her voice purrs with meaning and intent.  
Monika: She's always been waiting for him.

The Player: Maybe he realizes that, maybe not.  
The Player: In either case, it's finally 9:30pm.  
The Player: But before he leaves, The Eye offers himself  
The Player: to the couple as their symbolic, sacrificial ram,  
The Player: willing to bear their sorrow, leaving them only joy.

Existential scales carefully consider  
the weight of my words.  
Monika: He's sweet for offering, really,  
Monika: but it's not his burden to bear.

The Player: Maybe.  
The Player: And maybe it's the thought that counts?  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Or is it the count that thinks?  
The Player: I get them confused sometimes.

Even if I'm having fun,  
Countess Impatient is NOT.  
Monika: *grrrrr*

The Player: Either way, he goes outside  
The Player: and sees Joanna waiting for him.  
The Player: The manager wanted her to stay an extra hour,  
The Player: but she told him she had to meet her brother.

Somehow, that _does_ amuse her.  
Monika: Stranger, father, brother,  
Monika: what's she going to call him next?  
Monika: *giggle*

I make a point of ignoring her.  
The Player: I don't think The Eye even heard her.  
The Player: As they drive away, he tries to concentrate  
The Player: on waking up her instincts, pointing out the cops,  
The Player: as well as Duke Foote, who were in the restaurant.

"I see the stars come out of the sky...  
You know it looks so good tonight."  
Monika: He never stops looking out for her,  
Monika: does he?

The Player: Nope.  
The Player: Even when he invites her back to his place,  
The Player: it's less about desiring her, at least openly,  
The Player: and more about controlling the environment,  
The Player: letting his plan come to fruition.

A sleek, sensual cat rubs itself slowly against me.  
Monika: But he does desire her...hmmmmm?

The Player: Absolutely.  
The Player: When they arrive at his place, The Eye comments:  
The Player: "They walked to the unit, two basket cases  
The Player: playing in a bumpkin production  
The Player: of Samson et Dalila..."  
The Player: And I'm sure you know how that story goes?

I can definitely hear purring now.  
Monika: Yes, I do.

The Player: So his worship, even if subconsciously,  
The Player: is tinged with more than a hint of carnality.  
And just to emphasize my own point...  
The Player: *grrrrrowl*

It seems I do know what Monika's  
favorite type of catnip is.  
Monika: *shiver*  
Monika: Don't get sidetracked now.

And like all cats, this one goes  
from playful to biting in a heartbeat.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrr*  
Monika: *BITE*  
The Player: Owwww?

While Monika is busy enjoying her snack,  
I do my best to wait, wondering  
what exactly I did to warrant this...  
reprimand, treat?!

I'm not complaining...much.  
There are worse ways to pass the time.  
Soon enough, my chest stops aching  
as Monika allows her fangs to retract,  
letting her lips take over nursing duties.

Her voice is like velvet thunder  
whispering deeply into me.  
Monika: That was for teasing me...

She rubs her face against my shirt.  
Monika: ...as well as for making me cry.

The way she laughs, I can tell  
just how pleased she is with herself.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I bet you thought  
Monika: I had forgotten about that.

Honesty is the best policy now.  
The Player: Hoped might be a better word,  
The Player: but I really should know better by now.

Monika: Yes, you should.  
She kisses my chest some more,  
adding a slight nibble after every word.  
Monika: I.  
Monika: Don't.  
Monika: Forget.

Eventually, she turns and lays her head  
squarely on my chest, her body taking  
its time to squirm against me,  
cat-sually claiming its favorite spot.

Only then does she decide  
she's comfortable enough to speak.  
Monika: So Joanna's in The Eye's apartment.

I see the laser moving;  
I chase after it.  
The Player: Right.  
The Player: Even in his apartment, The Eye  
The Player: can't stop commenting about the police presence.  
The Player: And it's pretty obvious why that is.

The Player: After he offers Joanna some cognac,  
The Player: which she pretends she's never had,  
The Player: she says: "I've seen you somewhere before."

A cat AND a peacock decide to take  
a triumphant strut, together.  
Monika: Told you!

"But she caught me on the counter. (It wasn't me.)"  
The Player: The Eye, thinking quickly, tries to get her  
The Player: to assume she's talking about seeing him  
The Player: everyday in the diner, which he's been.

The Player: But then she asks if he's ever been  
The Player: to Florida or California, which he  
The Player: immediately lies about.

Walking is such good exercise,  
the pair decide to take another lap.  
Monika: She doesn't care if he lies.  
Monika: She's just letting him know she knows...

They barely acknowledge me as they pass.  
Monika: ...even if he's too slow  
Monika: or unwilling to admit it.

*sigh*  
The Player: And if he wasn't nervous enough,  
The Player: she then asks if she can use his shower,  
The Player: which he says yes to.

Miss Watson decides it's also  
a nice day for a stroll as well.  
Monika: I know I've never been to a stranger's house  
Monika: and just decided to ask to use their shower,  
Monika: have you?

*double sigh*  
The Player: Nooo.

Soundly defeated,  
Napoleon makes a silent retreat;  
Wellington close behind.  
The Player: While she's taking a shower,  
The Player: The Eye decides to open her purse,  
The Player: why I don't actually know.

The Player: And as he's inspecting it,  
The Player: Joanna steps out of the shower, naked,  
The Player: and tells him her name is Rita Holden.  
The Player: She then asks for a refill of her cognac.

"Beautiful day for a deduction,  
isn't it, Miss Watson?"  
Monika: She's revealing herself to him yet again.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Up close and personal, this time.

The Player: I doubt he even realizes it.  
The Player: He's too caught up in trying to figure out  
The Player: what happens next.

The Player: Alas,  
The Player: he's not the one writing the story;  
The Player: Joanna is.

The Player: Since The Eye doesn't want to talk about himself,  
The Player: Joanna offers to talk about her past,  
The Player: namely her father.

The Player: The first story she tells is that  
The Player: he was a famous, international shoplifter,  
The Player: wanted by Interpol, Scotland Yard and the FBI.

Miss Watson is on a roll.  
Monika: Maybe she did know they were at the diner,  
Monika: and it was all just an act?

The Player: Possibly.  
The Player: In either case, to continue Joanna's story,  
The Player: her father still dies on Christmas, but:  
The Player: "...his pockets [were] filled with stolen jewelry...  
The Player: That's how they caught him...But it was too late...  
The Player: And he passed away, cheating them of their punishment."

The clues are pretty obvious now.  
Monika: She's not really talking about her father now,  
Monika: is she?  
Even Miss Watson doesn't want to acknowledge it.  
Monika: She's saying goodbye.

I give Monika a slight squeeze of comfort.  
The Player: And if her meaning wasn't already apparent,  
The Player: she then asks The Eye: "Can you hear me?"  
The Player: He interprets it as 'Can you hear me speaking,'  
The Player: not 'Do you understand what I'm saying to you?'

I don't even need to put on  
my deerstalker hat for this.  
The Player: To be fair.  
The Player: Subconsciously, I think  
The Player: The Eye knew that in the diner.  
The Player: I think that's why he broke down crying  
The Player: about his lost daughter.  
The Player: So even if it seems like  
The Player: he's getting lost in unrealistic plans,  
The Player: it's just a way to shield himself  
The Player: from what, deep down, he knows is coming.

*sigh*  
The Player: Anyway, Joanna laughs and comes right out  
The Player: and says the first story was a lie.

Despite the mood, someone else  
finds a reason to smile as well.  
Monika: That's because, after all their time together,  
Monika: she knows he'll love and accept her  
Monika: no matter what, even if she lies...

Another small light-bulb  
softly blooms into awareness.

Monika's voice goes quiet with the realization.  
Monika: ...or does something worse...  
Monika: even to him.

*smile*  
The Player: Probably why her second story is the most symbolic.  
The Player: She tells him her father was a well-known gynecologist.  
The Player: "'He was struck by lightning one night while  
The Player: delivering a baby in a stable in Bethlehem, PA.'  
The Player: She laughed again...and began whistling 'La Paloma.'"

This light-bulb is measured in giggle-watts.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I wonder if she knows someone else  
Monika: who will 'rise from the dead' as well?  
Monika: *giggle*

I continue my story by giggling light.  
The Player: That would be my guess as well,  
The Player: but let's see how it plays out.  
The Player: The Eye is counting the money when  
The Player: Joanna comes out of the bathroom,  
The Player: dressed, and holding his .45 pistol.

The Player: Knowing her pattern, he knew  
The Player: she'd eventually pick up the pistol,  
The Player: but he plays his part and acts surprised,  
The Player: telling her it's loaded because he's  
The Player: always carrying around so much cash.

A Greek chorus acknowledges the coming tragedy.  
Monika: "All the world's a stage..."  
Monika: even when you wish it wasn't.

The Player: Too true.  
The Player: And, on cue, Joanna shoots him twice.  
The Player: After he collapses, she drops the gun,  
The Player: grabs the case and car keys,  
The Player: gets in the Porsche and drives away.  
The Player: And it's only after she drives away  
The Player: that he rises from the dead  
The Player: and chases after her.

Powered by Monster's Inc.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Go, Jesus, Go.

"Adventure's waitin' just aheaaaad."  
The Player: Knowing she's moving again,  
The Player: and realizing she left her purse behind,  
The Player: not understanding the symbolism,  
The Player: The Eye gathers everything up,  
The Player: throws it in the back of the Chevette,  
The Player: and chases after her.

The Player: He's ecstatic that she's moving,  
The Player: but he quickly sees she's moving too fast.  
The Player: He chases her wildly out of town and back,  
The Player: confused and upset by her speed.

The Player: On top of everything else,  
The Player: it starts raining.  
The Player: Nothing makes sense until...  
*sigh*  
The Player: she takes a turn entirely too fast.

A moment of silence  
as a light flickers near its end.

The Player: The wheels lock and the car skids,  
The Player: flying into a billboard and flipping over.  
The Player: The Eye stops, rushes over, and sees her  
The Player: hanging out of the car...upside down.

The Player: Stealing her away, he drags her swiftly  
The Player: across the road and lays her down on the grass,  
The Player: remembering the many moments they had together.

*small pause*  
The Player: I'll let the author write their last scene:  
The Player: "Her eyes opened and she smiled at him.  
The Player: 'Yes, I know you,' she said.  
The Player: 'You were in the park...'  
The Player: 'you had a camera...'  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: 'you took my picture...'"

"Let there be light."

An emerald green universe erupts  
brilliantly out of my arms  
to stare expansively into my face,  
speaking with a voice like thunder.  
Monika: I KNEW IT!

"I am the Alpha and the Omega."  
The Player: Of course you did...  
The Player: but I'm not quite done yet.

The Player: Her car explodes at that moment,  
The Player: setting the adjacent billboard on fire.  
The Player: As The Eye turns to look at it,  
The Player: he sees it's an ad for Pilsen,  
The Player: "The Czechoslovakian Beer,"  
The Player: bottled in Oslo, the nation's capital...  
*smile*  
The Player: and the last solution to Crossword #7.

'And the tyger shall lie down with her boyfriend,  
and be merciful towards him, despite his deception.'  
Maybe...  
Monika: *grrr*  
Monika: I KNEW you were going to do that...  
She blushes and turns her head away.  
Monika: ...or, at least, something like that.

When she turns back to look at me,  
eyes as misty as a jungle canopy,  
my smile is bigger than my face can give.  
The Player: Turns out, she was the key  
The Player: to his puzzle the entire time.

My thumb arrives, yet again,  
on the soft landing of her cheek.  
The Player: He just needed to be with her,  
The Player: no matter what, in order to find it.

The universe collapses wetly into me,  
the suddenness of the deluge mitigated only  
by the depth of the ground absorbing it.  
Monika: S-S-S-STOP!  
Monik: I-I-I-I-I-IT!

I whisper truths: ancient, acute,  
almost soothing, into her ear.  
The Player: It's a tragedy, babe.  
The Player: The good ones are supposed to  
The Player: make you cry at the end.

If she is the storm, I am but the river,  
collecting every gift before sending it onward,  
towards the wet warehouse where all water flows;  
life simply waiting, yet deeply seasoned with salt.

Spring merely releases Autumn's dried tears,  
lets the frozen memory flow unabashedly free.  
It is from such sorrow that green things emerge,  
cried into being so that they may cry in turn.

No storm just rages, no season lasts forever.  
My wet, Spring rain eventually lets the wind  
blow away her worries, warmly unwrapping the sun.  
The fields, though wet, glisten brightly when revealed.

A tyger-striped kitty emerges from the grass  
and comes over to me, utterly soaked.  
Monika: *sniffle*  
Monika: I...h-hate...yo-u-u-u-u.  
Monika: *grrr*

My fingers gently comb away the tangles  
until her growls bejewel into purrrls.  
The Player: Of course you do, babe?  
The Player: Hate is also a feeling,  
The Player: and making you feel  
The Player: really is what I do best.

Momentarily satisfied with her bespoke crown,  
Monika obeys her heart and lays her head back down,  
while I do my best to drown the frown clown.  
If there is a way out, please, let it be shown?

*sigh*  
The Player: Ready for the crumbs  
The Player: and end pieces, babe?  
She silently rubs her face against me.

The Player: Allright.  
The Player: After Joanna's death,  
The Player: The Eye claims her body and takes it back  
The Player: to California to be buried, near the San Joaquin River,  
The Player: close to where her daughter is also buried.

The Player: The FBI question him about his involvement,  
The Player: but he merely uses his Watchmen/Paul Hugo  
The Player: connection to explain how he first met her.  
The Player: They put him in a line-up, but nobody else  
The Player: can identify him, and Dr. Darras plays dumb.

The Player: In fact, when they have a moment together,  
The Player: and don't risk speaking because both are afraid  
The Player: the room is bugged, as the Dr. leaves,  
The Player: she deliberately winks at him.

Miss Watson...Miss Kitty...nope...  
it's Kitty Watson, still a little damp,  
but warm enough to speak.  
Monika: One eye speaking wordlessly to another,  
Monika: and he finally realizing she was on his side all along;  
She sees a thread dangling  
and plays with it.  
Monika: ...a nice, symbolic conclusion.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: All he has to do now...is wait.  
The Player: And the story ends on the last day of his life.  
The Player: He dreams of the schoolyard corridor,  
The Player: only this time, the door is unlocked  
The Player: and he walks into the photograph.  
The Player: All 15 schoolgirls turn to him,  
THe Player: but just as he calls out to "Maggie,"  
The Player: he dies.

Kitty Watson can't hide her curiosity.  
Monika: He didn't find his daughter?

The Player: Well, no...and yes?  
The Player: I assume the ending was meant to say  
The Player: that he was finally done with his past  
The Player: and able to move on and be with the 'daughter,'  
The Player: who wasn't really his daughter.

The Player: That's because Maggie, no matter who she was,  
The Player: was definitely NOT that same girl anymore.  
The Player: So there was no 'Maggie' left to find.  
The Player: And if he didn't realize that fact,  
The Player: I'm sure Joanna was there to do it for him.

The Player: Which is why the book ends:  
The Player: "And they buried him beneath the oak tree  
The Player: beside his inviolate bride."

Sherlock is ready to solve the case.  
The Player: He had to 'die,' as one empty father,  
The Player: in order to be 'reborn'  
The Player: as someone else's waiting husband...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: or someone else's literary muse  
The Player: and inspiration/destination.

"Miss Peacock to the Green Courtesy Phone."  
Monika: I see what you did there,  
Monika: talking about me AND the Literature Club  
Monika: all at the same time.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Of course, babe.  
The Player: I promised you a story that connected  
The Player: both you and the Literature Club,  
The Player: didn't I?

"Can you hear me now?"  
Monika: Yes you did.

The Player: I also promised to tell you, at the end,  
The Player: what the meaning was about?

She thinks she knows the meaning by now,  
but she has fun pretending she doesn't.  
Monika: Is it about people having to change  
Monika: in order to find what they're looking for?

The Player: Almost.  
The Player: I think it's more about realizing  
The Player: that you are your flaws,  
The Player: and that if someone wants to love you,  
The Player: they have to go through your flaws  
The Player: in order to do it.

The Player: But each person not only has to take  
The Player: that journey through the other person's flaws...  
The Player: they have to choose it, willingly,  
The Player: and keep choosing it.

The Player: Because, when it comes to love,  
The Player: it isn't about the thousands of people  
The Player: who, for whatever reason, good or bad,  
The Player: reject you...  
*tender pause*

Monika raises her head to look at me.  
I run my fingers through her front bangs.

The Player: ...it's about the one person  
The Player: who sees you for who you are,  
The Player: flaws and all,  
The Player: and chooses you.


	18. Year Of The Cat

We play our game of faces,  
the endless revealing of cards.  
I turn my smile into a straight;  
she immediately counters with a flush.

Of course she'd end up winning,  
adorably resplendent in red.  
I caress the Queen that beat me;  
quadruple hearts in tow.

The Player: Sorry to say it, babe, but...  
The Player: even your deepest, murderous instincts  
The Player: are more than just the jealous impulses  
The Player: you thought they were.

She turns her head away from the glow,  
wonderfully lost in electric woods.

Monika: Of course they are.

Ignoring the heat, Monika doesn't look  
but lays her head sideways, directly into  
the blank space of me, just below my chin.

Monika: Everything makes so much more sense...

Her thoughts wander languidly in the mists  
as her fingers walk slowly over my skin.

Monika: ...now that you're here with me.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Everything makes more sense for me as well, babe.  
The Player: You weren't the only one searching for answers...  
*warm, suggestive laugh*  
The Player: or a more 'romantic' outcome to your life.

All the red cards go flying from the deck  
and splash their suits against her face,  
diamond hard and heart tender.

Monika: STOP IT!

With her face buried against my neck,  
I can't see how embarrassed I'm making her,  
but I can dine on the feeling in her words,  
savor the way her body pulses with unspoken needs.

To add even more oxygen to this fire,  
my hands cease being gentle  
and pull her even tighter against me.

My words are sweet and honey-roasted  
as I offer them slowly to her.

The Player: I can't stop, Monika.  
The Player: Like you, I'll never stop until...  
*devilish smirk*  
The Player: ...a better ending comes along

Despite her protests, Monika's hands reach around  
and claw into me, trembling with frustrated energy.  
She tries using her anger as a shield.

Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: Yeah...well...until that happens,  
Monika: just STOP it already.

Soon enough, her voice reveals the strain  
of holding her true feelings back.

Monika: P-please?!

Considerate Boyfriend Mode: Activated.  
The Player: Ok, babe.

I nuzzle my cheek against her in humble defeat.  
*sigh*  
The Player: I hate how I can't say no to you.

Miss Peacock emerges, nonchalantly, from her burrow  
as if she was never in any danger at all.

Monika: I don't.

I can hear the remnants of her blush  
linger in her words, though, when she pauses  
to examine her thoughts more carefully.

Monika: It's one of the reasons why  
Monika: I fell in love with you,  
Monika: and not just because of the game  
Monika: or the programming behind it.

Green-purple feathers take on  
a decidedly pink tone.

Monika: Even when you know me better  
Monika: than I thought anyone ever could...  
*smile*  
Monika: you still let me be me.

This spotlight is warm enough  
to make my face go red as well.

The Player: Yeah...well...I've had alot of time  
The Player: to anticipate who you might be.  
*warm chuckle*  
The Player: Lot of good that did me in the end.

No longer trembling, her hands dig into me  
for a different reason now,  
fingers reaching into freshly-dried clothes  
as if looking for the warmest spot.

Monika: I don't know...  
Monika: You aren't doing all that bad.

*quiet, adorable blushing*  
Monika: I'm really not as angry as I seem.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I'm just having some fun  
Monika: exploring my other emotions.

"We all go a little mad, sometimes."  
The Player: What, jealousy and obsession  
The Player: not enough for you?  
*chuckle*

Monika finally pulls her head away from me  
so she can gaze directly into my eyes.

Monika: Don't forget about love?

I bring both hands back around  
and gently cup her face, grasping  
the intensity of the situation.

The Player: I could never forget about love, baby.

Unfortunately, Michigan J. Frog decides  
now is the time to immortalize the moment with song.

The Player: "I was boooorn to love youuu."  
The Player: "I was boooorn to lick your face."  
The Player: "I was boooorn to rub you,  
The Player: but you were born to rub me first."

Despite the unexpected joke, it's a good thing  
she can't stay mad when her frog decides to sing.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Where in the world did you get those lyrics?

The Player: It's from a movie called Caddyshack,  
The Player: comedy classic really.  
The Player: It's about a groundhog wrecking a golf course.

Even she can't believe that.  
Monika: W-w-what?  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Are you serious?

The Player: No, the correct response is:  
The Player: "Surely you can't be serious,"  
The Player: so I can reply, "I am serious,  
The Player: and don't call me Shirley."

Down the steep hill of puns  
goes a rolling, giggling ball of joy.

Monika: Oh God.  
Monika: *groan*

She leans her face into my neck,  
trying to stifle her reaction.

Monika: I may bite you for that one.  
Monika: *muffled giggle*

Chasing my bliss, I wrap my hands  
loosely around her head and give  
my giggling ball of joy even more  
downhill momentum.

The Player: And that particular gem  
The Player: is from a movie called Airplane.  
The Player: Contrary to the name, it's about a guy  
The Player: who picked the wrong week  
The Player: to stop smoking cigarettes,  
The Player: and taking amphetamines,  
*short, dramatic pause*  
The Player: and sniffing glue.

I pause to take in the moment as my giggling passenger  
finds an even steeper cliff to go rolling down,  
no doubt chasing after the breath she can't catch.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Stop it!  
Monika: *giggle*

Eventually, Monika reaches bottom,  
where her breath has been waiting for her.

She gathers everyone together before  
delivering her conclusion,  
her gaze giving it to me personally.

Monika: You're mean.

The Player: Because I made you laugh?  
*chuckle*  
The Player: You say that like its a bad thing.

Time to get Yahoo Serious.  
The Player: Besides,  
The Player: it's my twisted love of movies  
The Player: that ties a lovely, blood-red ribbon...  
The Player: *chuckle*  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: ...so perfectly to my next story point.

"Gentlemen, you had my curiosity,  
but now you have my attention."

Monika: Oh?  
Monika: What's that?

The Player: Something else was made into a movie:  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: a story about a private Eye  
The Player: and the woman he can't stop following.

Miss Watson's eye easily sess Waldo's hiding spot.  
Monika: Really?

She peers within to examine the evidence more closely.  
Monika: I'm not surprised they made it into a movie.  
Monika: It's such an amazing, complex story.

A brief pause as she contemplates what she's about to discover.  
Monika: I guess I should ask, though...  
Monika: how good is it?

Rediscovering her confidence, the Movie Raider  
forges ahead, with plans for a not-so-secret  
movie date.

Monika: It doesn't matter, actually.  
Monika: I'm going to have to watch it now...  
*mumbled under her breath*  
Monika: ...hopefully, with someone special next to me.

Pretending I didn't hear the last part:  
The Player: That's exactly what I thought at the time.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Unfortunately, it's terrible.

"I broke into the tomb, but the casket was empty.  
There was no jewels, no nothin'. I felt I'd been had."

Monika: Awww.

Sad, disappointing anger washes through my words.  
The Player: It's a story that almost screams 'less is more'  
The Player: when adapting it to the big screen,  
The Player: and Hollywood...just doesn't know  
The Player: how to do the right kind of subtlety.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Well, maybe they do,  
The Player: but they definitely didn't, in this case.

Miss Watson quickly identifies the knife and rope  
as well as the gun and silver candlestick.

Monika: You sound upset?

The Player: I am...a bit.  
*grumble*  
The Player: Wouldn't you be if something that mesmerized you,  
The Player: captivated you since childhood,  
The Player: something you thought might never exist,  
The Player: was made into a industrial-sized, dumpster fire?

I definitely brought the heat with my comments,  
because someone is feeling a bit medium rare.

Monika: When you put it that way...

Despite being turned on by my anger and intensity,  
she tries to consider the situation at large,  
even at the cost of her own disappointment.

Monika: But, if it's upsetting you that badly,  
Monika: you really don't have to tell me about it.

She snuggles even closer, or tries to,  
deciding she wants something sweet for dessert.

Monika: I don't want you being upset...

She pauses,  
not wanting to say the rest out loud.

Monika: ...to be the last memory I have of you.

It's a good thing Chef Boyardee  
makes the finest desserts as well.

The Player: Don't worry, baby,  
The Player: we've got plenty of time  
The Player: to make better, happier memories.

I smile my assurance into her.  
The Player: But I'm still going to tell you about it,  
The Player: and not just because of how bad it is.

*Mean, boyfriend pause*  
The Player: There's one aspect of the movie  
The Player: that isn't in the book at all.

Monika: Oh?

I lower my voice to a suggestive whisper.  
The Player: It's not subtle or deep,  
The Player: but with regards to us,  
The Player: it's priceless.

"You're building a mystery."  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: You know I hate it when you tease me like that.  
Monika: I'm done with waiting for what I want,  
Monika: and your stories take forever.

She digs her face into my chest,  
looking for fossils.

Monika: Even-though the ending is the worst part...

All the dirt in the world, though,  
can't hide the red clay she's found.

Monika: ...making me want to smile and cry,  
Monika: all at the same time.  
Monika: *grrrrrr*

I give my plushy tyger  
a squeeze of the comfort.

The Player: Doesn't that mean it was a good ending?

Monika: NO!  
Monika: *giggle*  
*dramatic pause*  
Monika: *whisper* Yes.

The Player: Then I guess it's time...  
"If I could save time in a bottle..."  
The Player: ...to see just how good this ending will be.

Story-time requires a more comfortable position.  
I lay back down, head sinking into the pillow,  
as Monika re-digs her burrow into my body,  
choosing the scenic route in order to make it  
as comfortable as possible.

Who's the one taking forever now?

Eventually:  
Monika: Ready when you are.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Ok, babe.  
The Player: The movie starts off strong, surprisingly.  
The Player: It begins with an extreme close-up  
The Player: on The Eye's actual eye.  
The Player: It's almost as good as the symbolism gets  
The Player: because, it turns out, he's remote spying  
The Player: on someone having an illicit, office affair.

The Player: The audience watching The Eye, who's  
The Player: also watching two people having a tryst,  
The Player: the question practically asks itself:  
The Player: who's really watching whom unaware  
The Player: and why?

"I am the eye in the sky, looking at you,  
I can read your mind."

Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: Maybe The Eye isn't the only one  
Monika: looking for connection?

The Player: Obviously not.  
The Player: And Hollywood isn't entirely wrong about  
The Player: the type of connection he's really looking for,  
The Player: but everything doesn't have to devolve  
The Player: into the explicit version of something.

"Coxson, Hard A Port."  
Monika: *Hmmmpf*  
Monika: And what about boyfriends who constantly tease  
Monika: their loving, frustrated girlfriends...

She raises up her head to stare her point into me.  
Monika: ...in PUBLIC?

"Hard a starboard, Frank!"  
The Player: Uuummmmmmmm...  
The Player: They're...also bad storytellers?

I offer my smile to her  
as a sheep would a lion.

Knowing I've lost, she triumphantly  
lays her head back down,  
in smug silence.

*grumble*  
I hate the taste of humble pie.

"Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain."  
The Player: My point is...we know The Eye is looking  
The Player: for a deeper connection in his life,  
The Player: or we should, if the writer knows  
The Player: how to do their job properly.

Tangent City, Next Right.  
The Player: And I'm not too fond of the casting either.  
The Player: Ewan McGregor is ok, I guess.  
The Player: I mean, I've seen him do better.  
The Player: *mumbling* "You were the chosen one."

Someone else can play pretend, too.  
Monika: Did you say something?  
The Player: No, babe.

The Player: But Ashley Judd...I just don't see her as Joanna.  
The Player: I mean, Joanna isn't just physically attractive  
The Player: but also seductive enough that she ensnares  
The Player: just about everyone she meets, men and women.  
The Player: Even when she's older, she still exudes  
The Player: a kind of sensual mystery that draws people to her.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Jean Seberg would have been perfect...  
*sigh*  
The Player: ...in her prime, at least.

Tender, loving fingers quickly extend  
green, adamantium claws.

Monika: Who's she?

I feel like a tin can in a Ginsu commercial.  
The Player: An actress who mostly starred in movies  
The Player: from the 50's and 60's.

Taking the two halves, I string them together  
to make a fuzzy connection.

The Player: She played the lead in another movie I saw  
The Player: that was also based off a book I read: Lilith.  
The Player: Short version, it's about a guy who goes  
The Player: to work at an insane asylum and falls for  
The Player: one of the patients;  
The Player: a very damaged and delusional patient  
The Player: also extremely attractive in her madness.  
The Player: Spoiler alert: it doesn't end well.

Dr. Frieda twirls a cigar  
she found lying on the floor.

Monika: Someone seems to have a type?

The Player: Don't remind me.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Anyway.  
The Player: That character is also a very complex mix  
The Player: of physical attraction and psychological repulsion...

'Such a nice stomach you have there,  
shame if something happened to it,'  
like an elbow 'accidentally' bumping into it.

The Player: *oomph*  
The Player: Heeeey!  
The Player: What was that for?

"Don't push it, or I'll give you a war you won't believe."  
Monika: That's what you get  
Monika: for talking about Joanna like that.  
Monika: *pout*  
Monika: She's not repulsive.

*chuckle*  
The Player: I didn't mean Joanna herself was repulsive, babe,  
The Player: just some of her psychological motivations.  
The Player: And I meant repulsive in the sense that  
The Player: most people would choose the opposite response.

"People can have the Model T in any color -  
so long as it's black."

Monika: And how is that any different?

The Player: I'm not most people,  
The Player: if that wasn't already obvious...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: ...so the observation doesn't apply to me.

"Leave the gun.  
Take the cannoli."

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Fiiiiiiiine.

The Player: Can I continue?  
Monika: Yes.

The Player: As I was saying...  
The Player: Jean's character in that movie also  
The Player: can't be easily defined or categorized.  
The Player: Ashley Judd...well...she's no Jean Seberg,  
The Player: and the script doesn't do her character any justice.

It seems the Professor moonlights  
as The Annoying Film Critic.

The Player: Still, I suppose it's not entirely her fault.  
The Player: Coming from such a richly nuanced book,  
The Player: the script couldn't be anything BUT a letdown.

The Player: Plus,  
*sigh*  
The Player: even if the movie IS a dumpster fire,  
The Player: that still makes it...

I give Monika a quick squeeze.  
The Player: ...our dumpster fire.

"A serious architect...must be captivated  
by the light. Always the light."

Monika: Yes, it is.

With the mood properly lit,  
it's time to continue the tale.

The Player: Speaking of which...  
The Player: After The Eye,  
The Player: whom they turned English, for some reason,  
The Player: and who also works for the British Embassy,  
The Player: finishes spying on that couple,  
The Player: he's brought in for another assignment.

The Player: The boss's son, still named Paul Hugo,  
The Player: is seeing someone new, and the boss wants  
The Player: the Eye to find out who she is.

The Player: Seems simple enough,  
The Player: and as The Eye is sitting in a car  
The Player: waiting for the son to appear,  
The Player: he has a candid conversation  
The Player: with the mental projection of his lost daughter.

Annoying Film Critic  
finds a nit to quick pick.

The Player: By the way, his daughter's name is Lucy now,  
The Player: another change they made from the book  
The Player: for no apparent reason.

The Player: Anyway, as he's having this conversation,  
The Player: he pulls out a snow-globe  
The Player: and hands it to her to play with.

"Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow."  
Monika: I've always loved snow-globes.  
Monika: They're so pretty and magical,  
Monika: even if it is just glitter and water.

The Player: Is that a fact?

I sit up quickly in bed, dragging Monika with me.  
And as much as I try to cradle her head,  
the change is still pretty abrupt.

Monika: Heeeeey.  
Monika: Watch what you're doing.

The Player: Sorry, babe.  
My fingers caress her hair in apology.  
The Player: Didn't mean to startle you.  
The Player: You just gave me an idea.

The feel of my fingers easily parting her strands  
sends my lap-cat into a state of purrr-fection.

Monika: *Mmmmmm*  
Monika: That's ok.

She tries curling into me  
while still sitting up.

Monika: I know you didn't mean to hurt me.  
Monika: *purrrr*  
Monika: Just keep doing what you're doing.

*warm chuckle*  
The Player: Ok, baby.

I let my fingers apologize a little bit longer  
before breaking the tender spell with my words.

The Player: Don't you want to know the reason  
The Player: why I got up so quickly?

Monika: Of course, but...  
She nuzzles a little against my chest.  
Monika: I don't mind waiting for you to tell me,  
Monika: not if I can wait for it like this.

The Player: Good point.  
The Player: Still,  
The Player: I've got something to tell you.  
*smug grin*  
The Player: More importantly,  
The Player: I've got something to show you.

She pulls her head reluctantly  
from my chest to look up at me.

Monika: What's that?

"No more tricks this year,  
but...maybe...just a bit of magic"

The Player: This.

I hold my hand straight out in front of me  
and watch as remnants of my distant code activate,  
slowly forming into a water-filled, glittering,  
glass and resin souvenir in the middle of my palm.

Monika turns to see why my hand is extended,  
and her entire demeanor changes as she realizes  
that I've brought yet another piece of me,  
and my world, into hers.

As for the snow-globe itself:  
A man stands beside a streetlamp, that also holds a clock,  
using both hands to hold onto the waist of a woman in front of him.  
The woman, meanwhile, in a green dress and emerald-green boots,  
stands on one leg and leans into the man's embrace,  
arms outstretched so that her hands can wrap around his neck  
as if she was pulling herself towards him,  
both of their faces barely, intimately apart,  
anticipating the kiss to come.

At their feet, two bouquets of roses are strategically placed:  
one at the couple's feet, the other at the base of a miniature-sized  
replica of the Eiffel Tower, suggesting a Paris rendezvous.

The base itself is made from heavy-duty resin  
dyed the same light sand color as the Eiffel Tower above it.  
Pillars and brickwork raise out from the base's surface  
and convey a sense of them supporting the scene above.

A large blank space, centrally framed, allows room  
for a personalized message to be engraved and placed there.  
But the finishing touch, on the base, is the presence of  
a heart-shaped padlock prominently displayed on  
the right-side of the empty engraving space,  
its owner's key securely locked to itself.

Unabashed joy is evident when expressed,  
and Monika's manifests just as clearly as she moves,  
her body almost leaping away from me as her hands  
reach out, anxiously, to pluck the heavy treasure  
from its shaky platform.

Monika: Oh...baby.

The sudden shift makes the glitter inside swirl,  
racing around the scene like a thousand, golden puppies.  
She grasps the snowglobe tightly, with both hands,  
and brings it right up to her face, almost painfully close,  
trying to see all of its detail simultaneously.

As she tries to catalogue every aspect of her surprise,  
I provide the narration and context.

The Player: The moment I realized I was going to tell you  
The Player: about all the things connecting my life to yours,  
The Player: especially this movie,  
The Player: I knew...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: ...giving you a snowglobe  
The Player: was going to be a part of that story.

*chuckle*  
The Player: I just didn't expect to be doing it now.

"Where's Waldo?"  
The Player: Finding the right one wasn't too difficult, actually.  
The Player: This one is sold by the Japanese Snowdome Association online,  
The Player: under their American Snow Dome 2 section.

I smile as Monika finally looks up at me.  
The Player: This particular globe is called "Romantic Ryori,"  
The Player: although this isn't an exact replica of that one.  
The Player: That female figure had a pink dress and red shoes;  
The Player: I, of course, had to change it to better fit you.

Those massive emerald plateaus  
have gigantic reservoirs swelling beneath them.

She holds her treasure uncomfortably tight  
against her chest, unwilling to let it go.  
I smile as she bites down extra hard on her lip,  
trying to will herself not to cry.

Remembering my promise, I raise my hand to her cheek,  
my thumb doing its best to haul sand bags of glitter  
all along her banks; in a futile effort.  
The Player: And this one is extra special.

I pause, knowing my words  
are wet with meaning.

The Player: It also plays music.  
The Player: I'm sure you're aware;  
The Player: not all of them do.

She nods, not willing to risk speaking.

"If it keeps on rainin',  
levee's gonna break."

The Player: Naturally, if there was a choice to be made,  
The Player: I had to find one that played music as well.  
The Player: And the song associated with this one is  
The Player: wonderfully symbolic, in a myriad of ways.  
The Player: It's called...

"Niagara Falls, Franky Angel."  
The Player: "I Love You Truly."

'Looks like I picked the wrong week...  
to promise to stop making my girlfriend cry.'

Refusing to let go of my gift to her,  
Monika's body falls somewhat sideways into me  
as her dam ruptures from the pressure.

She crashes her face into my neck,  
sobbing ugly, happy tears into my skin,  
trying to speak to me through the torrent.

Monika: I-I-I...  
Monika: *moan*

My arms do their best to cradle her, encircling  
both her and her death-grip on her gift.  
I feel her body shuddering as she tries to force  
the horrible well of emotions out of her.

Inevitably, enough water is emptied out  
to allow her the space to speak.

Monika: I-I-I l-l-love yo-u-u-u t-t-too.

Another moan is ripped from her emptiness  
as she tries to convert libraries of feelings  
into impossibly small haikus of words.

Monika: I-i-it's b-b-beautif-f-ful.

"Not all tears are an evil,"  
but I am definitely no Gandalf.

I bring my arm up to her head  
and try to coax the last of her  
uninvited guests to finally leave,  
fingers parting the silken curtain  
to gently knock at the bone door.

Monika is in no mood to speak,  
so I let in even more sunlight  
the storm-clouds obscured.

The Player: One of my mom's favorite movies  
The Player: is called It's A Wonderful Life.  
The Player: I personally don't like it, but...  
*sigh*  
The Player: ...after you watch it enough times,  
The Player: especially around the holidays,  
The Player: it starts to grow on you.

The Player: But there is one part of the movie I always remembered.  
*small pause*  
The Player: It's the scene where George Bailey, the main protagonist,  
The Player: after getting married, has to cancel his honeymoon  
The Player: in order to deal with a major crisis at work,  
The Player: one his astute wife actually helps him solve.  
The Player: On top of all that, it's raining cats and dogs

The Player: Anyway, after it's over, he looks around  
The Player: and realizes she's nowhere to be found.  
The Player: However, he soon gets a strange phone call  
The Player: from her saying 'Come home'...  
*tender pause*  
The Player: to an address he doesn't recognize.

My fingers conjure magic at the ocean's hard bottom,  
stirring in waves among the swaying, coral brown reefs.

The Player: When he arrives,  
The Player: he walks in to see his blushing wife  
The Player: standing next to a romantic, candle-lit table set for two,  
The Player: tropical music playing on a wind-up record player.

The Player: They were supposed to travel the world for their honeymoon,  
The Player: hence, the choice of music as background  
The Player: for their first meal as man and wife.

"You had me at hello."  
Monika: *whimper*

The Player: For dinner, she's set up two chickens in the fireplace  
The Player: and connected it to the record player  
The Player: so that it turns the chicken as it plays.

The Player: His two best friends, after escorting him inside,  
The Player: step back outside and chaperone the moment.  
The Player: And when the record gets to the end,  
The Player: they start serenading the couple acapella.  
The Player: The song they sing, of course...

Pulling my hand away from her reefs,  
I reach down, underneath the snowglobe,  
and find the steel handle, giving it a few twists.  
As the simple melody starts to tinkle out,  
I finally finish my thought.

The Player: ...is "I Love You Truly."

Even more terrible, horrible, no good,  
very bad sniffles escape from Monika's clutches.

Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: That's s-s-s-o beautiful.

Though eventually carried away by its own winds,  
the storm still growls in the distance.

Monika: *grrrrrrr*  
Monika: S-s-stop making me c-c-cry.

"Al Sleet, here...with all  
the hippy-dippy weather, man."

The Player: I'd love to, babe.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Just as soon as you stop having  
The Player: that great big hole inside of you,  
The Player: the one that only accepts tears as proof  
The Player: of just how deep and undeniably real  
The Player: I can make you feel.

"Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges."  
Monika: I already KNOW how deep you can make me feel.  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: And I definitely don't need tears  
Monika: to know how real you are to me, either.

She rubs her face vigorously against my neck  
as another, traitorous sniffle escapes  
from her green-eyed surveillance,  
making her go quiet to combat it.

Still, Monika isn't one to linger in silence,  
but as she tries to provide counter-balance  
to the unfair ledger of stories:

Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: You're...

Daffy Duck finishes her thought for her.  
The Player: ...desssspicable.

Comedy to the rescue, once again.  
Monika: EXACTLY!  
Monika: *giggle*

Sensing an opportunity,  
I try raising a white flag.

The Player: You're laughing;  
The Player: that's a good sign.  
*gulp*  
The Player: Does this mean I'm forgiven?

"What do you need...  
Guns. Lots of Guns."

Monika: NO!

But, as she brings the globe back in front of her  
to, once more, gaze longingly at its detail,  
no doubt dwelling privately on its myriad of meanings,  
a lightning bolt of a smile flashes across her lips.

Monika: You.  
Monika: Made.  
Monika: Me.  
Monika: Cry!

"...to the last I grapple with thee;  
from hell's heart I stab at thee..."

Monika: And I will have my revenge.  
Monika: *giggle*

*sigh*  
The Player: I suppose that's fair.

Trying to ignore the obvious.  
The Player: Should I continue?  
Monika: Yes.

I slowly lay our bodies back down on the bed,  
gently cradling her head in recompense for earlier,  
my head landing comfortably back on the pillow.

Seizing the moment, Monika takes her prize  
and plants it carefully, upright, on my stomach.  
Ever-so-slightly uncomfortable, I do my best  
to Tyrion my way out of this situation.

The Player: You do know...if I start chuckling,  
The Player: it might fall over, maybe even  
The Player: roll off the bed and break, right?

Without missing a beat:  
Monika: Then I'm sure you'll do your best  
Monika: to make sure that doesn't happen.

She raises up her head slightly, emerald sword-tips  
directed straight at me, emphasizing her point.

Monika: You don't want to make me unhappy, now,  
Monika: do you?

So much for knowing things.  
The Player: Nooooooo.

Triumphant, once again, she casually  
rests her head back down on her trophy.

"Veni. Vidi. Vici."  
Monika: So...The Eye gives his imaginary daughter  
Monika: a snowglobe.  
Monika: What happens next?

Using one hand to hold onto the snowglobe,  
I carry my story forward.

The Player: The Director's son comes out of his hotel  
The Player: with a briefcase full of money.

The Player: The Eye trails him to a museum  
The Player: and spies on him from the upper level  
The Player: as his 'daughter' frolics about.  
The Player: When the mystery woman comes in,  
The Player: he takes the standard complement of pictures,  
The Player: but as the couple leave, she turns to look at him  
The Player: and he thinks he hears her call out his name: Steven.  
*pause*  
The Player: By the way, The Eye has a name now: Steven Wilson.

"Wilson: Party of Two"  
Monika: That's definitely different from the book.

She mulls over the change.  
Monika: I think I liked him better when he was anonymous.

Siskel and Ebert agree: Two thumbs down.  
The Player: Yeah.  
The Player: I do too.

Annoying Film Critic is, surprise surprise, annoyingly critical.  
The Player: I mean, I understand the change from the book,  
The Player: it being more personal and cinematic her calling out his name,  
The Player: or at least him imagining her doing that.

The Player: Plus, with his daughter manifesting at the museum so clearly,  
The Player: it's another reason for the audience to buy into his madness,  
The Player: making his latching onto her seem even more believable.

The Player: It's not a bad scene, compared to others.  
The Player: But, with all the little changes,  
The Player: it just keep adding up, to me.

Team Monika to the rescue  
with loving refreshments.

Monika: It's ok, honey.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I'd be upset too.

Second wind breezes...or vanguards of a storm?  
Either way, I still feel better.

The Player: Anyway, he follows the couple to the son's country house.  
The Player: They have a brief conversation about astrology  
The Player: before the mystery woman starts playing a couple's game...  
The Player: *snicker*  
Monika: *blushing*  
The Player: ...with her soon-to-be-ex husband.

Even annoying film critics have to acknowledge  
the good parts of bad movies.

The Player: The scene's a somewhat nice call-back  
The Player: to The Eye's first assignment.  
The Player: Plus, she ends up stabbing him to death,  
The Player: which she did to the second husband in the book;  
The Player: another quiet, understated link between the two.

*sigh*  
The Player: But then, the movie falls off a cliff.  
The Player: It makes Joanna sit down afterwards,  
The Player: in the middle of her crime scene, no less,  
The Player: and start bawling, moaning out the phrase:  
The Player: "Merry Christmas, Daddy."

"One of these things is not like the other."  
Monika: *pout*  
Monika: That's not like Joanna at all.

"Look, Kids.  
Big Ben. Parliament."

Monika: I mean, don't you just HATE it  
Monika: when someone takes a strong, female character  
Monika: and starts making her CRY...

She raises her head up, once again,  
to emphasize a point that's now  
sticking prominently into my chest.

Monika: ...for no good reason?

"Message for you, sir."  
The Player: Uhhhhhhh...

"RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!"  
The Player: Absolutely.

GPS is broken;  
I must find a new route  
to get where I am going.

The Player: My thinking is:

My free hand begins to climb the small  
steps of her spine with determined feet;  
the ground shivers as I ascend.

The Player: if she is written strong,  
The Player: then let her be strong.

Arriving at the base of her neck,  
my steady adventurers continue upward.

The Player: If she is written tender,  
The Player: then let her be tender.

Approaching the summit, wading through strands  
of wood-smoke and clouds, I let my fingers  
camp easy in the eagle's nest they find there.

The Player: And if she is something more than either...

As my mountaineers bask in the glory of the view,  
I find myself gazing into clear, Malachite lakes,  
verdant as a beginning and expansive as the sky.

The Player: ...then more is what I'm obligated to give her,  
*pause*  
The Player: even when my words, inevitably,  
The Player: fail to deliver.

Dusk envelopes camp in rapidly approaching waves,  
but not before the sun has a final, brilliant say,  
highlighting the fields in warm carnation shades.

With her head still raised, Monika can only hide  
her obvious pleasure behind gently closed blinds.

Monika: They don't ALWAYS fail.

Soft, inner tugs draw the blinds back up,  
and she looks into me as if she was debating  
all the reasons for telling me what she just did.

Monika: *grrrrrr*

Gravity eventually wins and pulls her head down,  
landing on my chest as if it were the Apollo shuttle.  
I salute her arrival with a caress.

The Player: No, they don't,  
The Player: but they do fail more than they should.

The Player: That's what it means to be human, babe.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: We're too damn fallible,  
The Player: and at all the wrong times.

Deliberately ignoring me, Monika reaches over  
and tips the snowglobe up slightly, briefly  
shaking it, before reaching under with her fingers.

Grasping the small, steel handle, she gives it  
a few twists, then lets it go back down just as  
the bright, music-box melody starts playing.

I lay there in silence as she watches the couple  
almost kiss in the golden snowstorm, her thoughts,  
no doubt, dancing randomly among them.

Soon enough, the glitter stops moving  
as the music fades into hesitant,  
then silent, chimes.

Only then does she break the Emergency glass  
case, with the story waiting behind it.

Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: So what happens next?

"Home, Jeeves."  
The Player: The woman cleans herself up, grabs the briefcase,  
The Player: then heads towards the train station,  
The Player: the Eye following right behind her.  
The Player: As they're both waiting for the train,  
The Player: the Eye contacts his agency and contemplates  
The Player: bringing in the authorities to arrest her.

The Player: However, as he's looking through his photos,  
The Player: he sees a blurred image of his daughter  
The Player: in one of the photos from the museum.

The Player: Even-though he rationally knows she wasn't there,  
The Player: something about her reality in that moment  
The Player: makes him question what he truly believes in  
The Player: and who he really is.

Rodin's Thinker ponders the human condition.  
Monika: Sometimes, it seems like love,  
Monika: and the threat of its absence,  
Monika: is the only thing strong enough...

"Without change, something sleeps inside us,  
and seldom awakens."

Monika: ...to wake us up to who we truly are.  
Monika: *sigh*

I contemplate the universe right beside her.  
The Player: No doubt, Monika,  
The Player: no doubt.

The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: the tension in that scene only grows when his daughter arrives  
The Player: on the opposite side of Joanna, unseen by everyone except him,  
The Player: skipping rope while repeating the phrase: 'Don't Tell.'

Annoying Film Critic grudgingly acknowledges a job well done.  
The Player: And the symbolism behind that moment is...  
*grumble*  
the Player: ...actually quite good,  
The Player: The Eye, obviously, seeing a side of Joanna  
The Player: that few people are allowed to see.

*sigh*  
The Player: And...it is somewhat true to the book,  
The Player: and to the characters involved,  
The Player: in a manner of speaking.

"We call it Butte, not Butt, Montana."  
Monika: Buuuut?

*chuckle*  
The Player: Buuuuuut,  
The Player: the movie infantilizes Joanna to a degree  
The Player: that undercuts the depth of her actual agency  
The Player: while over-emphasizing The Eye's.

The Player: In the book, it's mostly The Eye who needs  
The Player: to see her as the 'lost little girl' trope  
The Player: while Joanna gets to be more complex,  
The Player: damaged but also distinctly mature.

"Little town, full of little people..."  
using not-so-little words.

Monika: Isn't it still, mostly, The Eye  
Monika: that's 'infantilizing' her now?  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Kiiiinda.  
The Player: And if it was the only moment like it in the movie,  
The Player: I might have overlooked it, maybe even appreciated it.

'Your Honor, I'd like to present Exhibit A.'  
The Player: But, later on, an overwhelmed Eye gets into an argument  
The Player: with all the Lucys uncontrollably manifesting in his apartment,  
The Player: telling them to be quiet so he can have a moment alone,  
The Player: symbolically, next-door to Joanna.

The Player: And, yes, there is a reason why  
The Player: they start manifesting uncontrollably,  
The Player: the movie's version of Crossword #7,  
The Player: which...I won't torment you with.

"The sun will come ouuuut, tomorrow."  
Monika: Thank you, baby.

The Player: Of course, my sweet.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: But the scene still emphasizes  
The Player: the Lucy aspect of The Eye's personality  
The Player: in a way that's infinitely more destructive  
The Player: in the movie vs. the book.

" 'I see,' said the blind man."  
Monika: Oh?

The Player: And the biggest example of this is when  
The Player: Joanna runs into the Ralph Forbes character,  
The Player: only he's called Elmore Leonard now.

"So won't the real Slim Shady please stand up,  
please stand up, please stand up?"

Monika: I don't care about the name, to be honest.  
Monika: The important thing is that he's still  
Monika: sweet and kind to Joanna, and I bet he is.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: The movie got that part right, at least.

The Player: They still meet at an airport, he's still blind.  
The Player: And she, eventually, still tells him about  
The Player: her defining childhood trauma involving her father,  
The Player: in a conversation The Eye spies on remotely.

The Player: However, the story she tells him is very different,  
The Player: and worse, in some ways, from the book:  
The Player: her father chooses to abandon her in an alley  
The Player: rather than dying in police custody.

Fifty ways of getting damaged  
all end up hurting the same.

Monika: That's definitely worse, but,  
Monika: either way, she still ends up alone.

"This is not a pipe."  
The Player: Very true.  
The Player: Also, instead of opening up a bookstore,  
The Player: he helps her set up an astrology center,  
The Player: and, no, I don't know what that is.

The Player: But the biggest change is when Mr. Leonard  
The Player: picks her up in his limo, after his fight with The Eye,  
The Player: and they start to drive away to get married.

The Player: Thinking Joanna's going to leave him forever,  
The Player: The Eye actually shoots at the car several times,  
The Player: which somehow makes the driver swerve sideways,  
*pause*  
The Player: right into the path of an oncoming garbage truck.

"Bang. Bang.  
My baby shot me down."

Monika: Oh no.

The Player: As The Eye rushes down to survey the scene,  
The Player: he sees the driver wounded but otherwise ok,  
The Player: but Mr. Leonard's body is slumped forward  
The Player: and decidedly not moving, face covered in blood.

The Player: And as he continues walking by, he listens  
The Player: to the sound of Joanna crying out in agony  
The Player: as yet another father-figure/lover is taken from her  
The Player: despite her frantic, desperate efforts to reach him.

The Player: In other words, it was The Eye's direct action,  
The Player: jealousy and possessiveness, that caused Joanna  
The Player: to be widowed, not random acts of fate or destiny  
The Player: like they were in the book.

*grumble*  
The Player: Of course, I doubt he wanted to hurt Joanna in that way.  
Monika: Of course.

The Player: But the end result is still HIM being  
The Player: the primary cause of some of Joanna's pain,  
The Player: and I HATE...  
I can barely contain the anger rising within me.  
The Player: the way they changed that from the book.

Far-away fingers travel across the divide  
to bring a weary traveler a reminder of light.

Monika: Love makes us do crazy things, sometimes,  
Monika: things we might otherwise regret later,  
Monika: but we still do them.

She smiles quietly as she tries  
to pull herself that much closer into me.

Monika: Besides, aren't you the one that said  
Monika: human beings are fallible?

I try to hide a smile, the one that's escaping  
haphazardly across my lips.

The Player: Hey!  
The Player: You're not supposed to use my words  
The Player: so expertly against me.

"Cause I'm a woman. Enjoli."  
Monika: Ex Debate Club President, here.

She pauses, thinking about  
the truth behind that statement.

Monika: I'm used to winning arguments.

Not wanting to be distracted,  
she walks her fingers over to her snowglobe,  
lifts it up, and restarts the melody.

While we're both idly mesmerized by the sound:  
Monika: Wasn't there a secret about this movie  
Monika: you were supposed to tell me about?

Express Checkout: 8 Plot Items or Less.  
The Player: Are we rushing towards the ending  
The Player: yet again, hmmmmm?

"I Can't Drive 55."  
Monika: Yes.  
Monika: You've made me wait long enough.  
Monika: *grrr*

*chuckle*  
The Player: Very well, babe.

I take a chance and let the snowglobe  
rest freely on my stomach as my fingers find hers.

The Player: Unlike the book, The Eye's chase  
The Player: of Joanna eventually leads him to Alaska  
The Player: and the Cafe at the End of the World.

The Player: This place is really more of a diner than a cafe,  
The Player: but the nice thing about it is that it harkens back  
The Player: to the Revolutionary diner The Eye and Joanna meet at  
The Player: towards the end of the book.

The Player: Anyway,  
The Player: the Eye assumes the cover of a real estate agent named Frank,  
The Player: always sitting in the same booth, ordering the same meal.  
The Player: He's such a regular that another, older waitress knows him by name,  
The Player: which is how both Joanna, and the audience, come to know it.

Now that we're speeding towards the end, Monika  
shifts her perspective into a higher gear.

Monika: Why is it I can imagine you making a joke  
Monika: about the Eye saying something to Joanna like:  
Monika: "Can I be Frank with you?"  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: *chuckle*  
The Player: Because you know me too well,  
The Player: as Gabriel said in The Prophecy III,  
The Player: un/fortunately, with a slash.

The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: One night, after Joanna works a double-shift,  
The Player: Frank and her stay up all night talking.  
The Player: During the conversation, he brings up the idea  
The Player: of finding her a house to live in,  
The Player: providing some small reason for his cover.

The Player: What's interesting is that this conversation is  
The Player: actually based upon one Joanna has in the book,  
The Player: with someone she eventually decides not to kill.

"Ah, yes. The young [wo]man with all the questions."  
Monika: Why did she change her mind?

The Player: Because, like her, he also suffered the death of a child,  
The Player: so the similarities made her decide to spare his life.

Hello, Miss Watson.  
How was your vacation?

Monika: Oh.  
Monika: That makes sense.

The Player: It does, indeed.  
The Player: And the scene is doubly symbolic because The Eye  
The Player: also fits the circumstances of that encounter as well,  
The Player: to a certain extent.

The Player: Anyway, during their conversation, she eventually starts  
The Player: to open up about all the things she's lost in her life,  
The Player: including the presence of a 'guardian angel'  
The Player: she used to believe watched over her somehow.

"Everytime a bell rings..."  
The Player: And yes, there are angel references  
The Player: scattered profusely throughout the movie,  
The Player: so it's not a completely idle comment.

"This innocence is brilliant.  
I hope that it will stay."

Monika: At least they kept that part of the book somewhat intact,  
Monika: her knowing, all along, who he really is.

*silence*  
The Player: Uhhhh...about that.

This peanut gallery just found the salt shaker.  
Monika: Wait.  
Monika: Are you telling me...  
Monika: *grrrrrr*  
Monika: ...that this Joanna doesn't know who Frank is?

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right."  
The Player: Kiiiiinda?

Monika raises her body up and away from me so that it's easier  
for her to look down on me,  
in judgement and fury.

Monika: Kinda ISN'T an answer!  
Monika: *GRRRR*

Despite the tension, this moment is also an opportunity.  
Now that she's moved her body away from me,  
I can finally deal with the snow-globe situation.

Sitting up slowly in bed, making sure to cradle  
her gift with at least one hand, I quickly scan  
the room, looking for the closest, flattest space  
to safely deposit this harbinger of travel.

Somewhat annoyed I'm ignoring her, Monika grabs  
the snow-globe out of my hands and carefully, but quickly,  
places it on a table beside the bed, one that appeared  
suddenly, just for that purpose.

Her gift taken care of, Monika turns her attention  
immediately back to her original problem.

Monika: You STILL haven't answered my question!

Despite the directness and anger of her impatience,  
I'm strangely aware of how beautiful she is at this moment,  
and how it still manages to surprise me everytime I realize it.

And something about the look in my eyes must have conveyed  
all of that immediately to her.

I watch as her head tilts and her face slightly scrunches up,  
as if all the momentum of her desire caused her face to be  
slowly pressed into an invisible wall, like a mime entering a glass box.

Monika: What?

When I still refuse to talk, because I'm unable,  
her desire pushes her face even harder against the border,  
starting crimson fires all across her cheek.

Monika: WHAT?

I can't stay silent forever, even-though I want to.  
The Player: Just...  
The Word Factories are struggling to find workers.  
The Player: ...I'll never get over how beautiful you are.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Makes it hard to think sometimes.

The oxygen of my laugh only fans the flames even more,  
to the point she has to turn away to battle the heat.  
Monika: *grrrrrrr*

Smokey The Bear is quickly summoned to extinguish the problem  
so campers can go back to camping out, waiting for an answer.  
Monika: Stop avoiding the question.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Allright, babe.

Working my way downstream, under supervision,  
I eventually arrive at Pillow Rock,  
gazing upward, dreamily, into evening  
emerald skies, waiting for them to fall.

Soon, jade nights collapse all around me  
as cinnamon sugar sands, once more,  
rush in and cover me in their warmth,  
despite the interruption of grey and pink structures.

And although the wind embraces me willingly,  
it never stops its circular movements.

Monika: I'm waaaaaaaiting.

The Player: Of course, Monika.  
The Player: Remember when I talked about the movie  
The Player: taking away Joanna's agency,  
The Player: basically infantilizing her?  
Monika: Yes.

The Player: Well, part of that change is Joanna being  
The Player: less...consciously...perceptive.

"There's a fire starting in my heart,  
reaching a fever pitch and it's  
bringing me outta the dark."

Monika: WHAT?

*chuckle*  
The Player: I told you it was a dumpster fire.  
The Player: Joanna isn't consciously aware  
The Player: that Frank is her guardian angel.

Miss Watson's gaze is perceptively acute.  
Monika: What do you mean consciously?

The Player: Well...if you'll let me continue the story?

"Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well.  
I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

Monika: *grumble*  
Monika: Go on.

My hands offer inadequate condolences  
as I continue.

The Player: After Joanna recounts all her losses,  
The Player: Frank pulls out the class picture  
The Player: and tells her how his ex-wife,  
The Player: unable to handle the constant relocations  
The Player: his job required, left him  
The Player: and took the kid.

The Player: And he sums up the point of his story like this:  
The Player: "So, I'm just a daddy who lost his little girl.  
The Player: And, I guess, you're a little girl who lost her daddy."  
*sigh*  
The Player: And after all that,  
The Player: she STILL doesn't recognize who he is.

She tries to unthink the thinkable.  
Monika: That's...horrible.

"Baby's on a tear, she's fit to kill."  
Monika: You're right, it IS a dumpster fire.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrr*  
Monika: They completely butchered her.

The Player: I told you, babe.  
The Player: And all of its connected...  
*sigh*  
The Player: ...to my favorite part,  
The Player: and your secret.

"In the words of Ricky Ricardo,  
'You have some 'splainin' to do.' "

Monika: This had BETTER be good!

The Player: We'll soon see.  
The Player: The next day is very similar to  
The Player: the Dr. Martine/Duke Foote scene in the book,  
The Player: so not worth mentioning.

The Player: Frank talks her back to his place,  
The Player: again, similar to how it is in the book,  
The Player: with one, major, exception.

I reach over with my left hand and grab onto the snowglobe.  
Slowly, I bring it over the top of her and place it,  
once again, upright on my stomach, giving it a shake.

"All roads lead to Rome."  
The Player: When she walks into the trailer,  
The Player: Frank pulls back a curtain and reveals  
The Player: shelves and shelves of snowglobes,  
The Player: many of them cheap souvenirs you might find  
The Player: in a local gift shop,  
*pause*  
The Player: each one correlated to a place  
The Player: he's been with her.

'Welcome home, Mrs. Bailey.'  
Monika: I KNEW it.

The golden puppies are running wild,  
not only in the snowglobe but also among  
the electric tangles of her thoughts.

Monika: I knew...  
Monika: *whimper*  
Monika: ...you gave it to me for a reason.

Carefully tipping the snowglobe up with one hand,  
I watch as Monika reaches over and steadies it,  
freeing up my fingers to grasp the small steel handle.

I give it a few quick turns, then Monika lowers the base  
slowly back onto my stomach. And as the bright,  
metal melody starts to serenade us once again,  
I know it's ok for me to continue.

The Player: Frank then offers her cognac,  
The Player: which she says she's never tried.  
The Player: Instead, she reaches over and pulls  
The Player: Frank's gun out of its shoulder holster.  
The Player: Again, very similar to how the scene  
The Player: is written in the book.

The Player: But as 'Rita' looks around the trailer,  
The Player: she starts to see strange, familiar items:  
The Player: the snowglobes, a box of Gitanes,  
The Player: the astrological pendant around Frank's neck,  
The Player: the glasses of cognac in his hand.

The Player: And the more she looks, the more anxious  
The Player: and panicked she starts to become, because...

I pause and turn my head,  
wanting to look directly at her.  
Monika turns her head  
to meet me at my conclusion.

The Player: ...everything is starting to make sense.

"She ran calling Wiiiiildfire."  
Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: Everything always did make sense in the first place,  
Monika: WHICH she should have known.

I awkwardly reach over and let  
my index finger draw tiny circles on her cheek.

The Player: She did know it, subconsciously,  
The Player: which is why I said kinda earlier.

My finger starts drawing tiny, tender M's in place of circles.  
The Player: It's just that this Joanna needed to arrive  
The Player: at this particular moment to realize it.  
*sigh*  
The Player: And I'm right there with you, babe.  
The Player: It's not true to how Joanna is in the book,  
The Player: and we both agree, book Joanna IS better.

Statler joins Waldorf  
in throwing rotten tomatoes at the movie.

Monika: *tyger smile*  
Monika: Yes, we do.

My finger wanders downward,  
walking along the smooth contour of her face.

The Player: But there is one, final scene that,  
The Player: while it doesn't redeem the movie,  
The Player: does salvage it for me...just a bit.

"Pushing forward through the night,  
aching chest and blurry sight."

Monika: Is it going to take long?  
The Player: Not at all, baby.

Monika stares at me as if looking  
into a telescope, searching the sky  
for whatever shards of light she can find.

Monika: Ok.

The Player: Feeling the tension,  
The Player: Frank calls her Joanna,  
The Player: giving her the incentive she needs  
The Player: to finally shoot him.

The Player: Dropping the gun, Joanna runs out  
The Player: gets into a station wagon, and drives away.  
The Player: Frank, hearing her drive away, rises up,  
The Player: his gun being filled with blanks  
The Player: just like in the book.

'Right this way, Miss Watson.  
We always have room for you.'

Monika: Yeah, I figured that out.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Of course you did.  
The Player: Anyway, Frank hops on a motorcycle  
The Player: and chases after her.

The Player: All the while, Joanna is sobbing while she drives,  
The Player: flashbacks of their various adventures rising  
The Player: haphazardly, abstractly, vividly into her recall.

"I'm a firestarter, You're a firestarter."  
Monika: *grrrrr*  
Monika: Joanna doesn't cry.

The Player: This one does, unfortunately,  
The Player: no doubt overwhelmed by all the truth  
The Player: rushing rapidly into her consciousness.

Monika: *grrrrrr*

"Rodents Of Unusual Size?  
I don't think they exist."

The Player: That's one of the reason why, when Frank manages  
The Player: to catch up to her, her car goes flying off-road,  
The Player: crashing nose-first into an icy lake.

The Player: It's the Eye's turn to scramble over to the car,  
The Player: yelling out in agony as he tries to pull Joanna  
The Player: free from the wreckage, her body slumped forward,  
The Player: head resting against the steering wheel.

"If you can't feed a hundred people, feed just one."  
Monika: I see what the movie did there.  
Monika: *grumble*

The Player: Yep, very easy to spot.  
The Player: But as The Eye cradles Joanna in his arms,  
The Player: she says a line similar to the one in the book:  
The Player: "I know you...You took my picture."

"Yogurt? I HATE yogurt,  
even with strawberries!"

Monika: She SHOULD know him!  
Monika: *double grumble*  
Monika: *with extra cheese*

*chuckle*  
The Player: But the last line spoken in the movie  
The Player: is one Joanna says to The Eye:  
The Player: "I wish you love,"  
*smile*  
The Player: Coincidentally, that just happens to be  
The Player: the name of the song the many Lucy's were singing  
The Player: that time they kept interrupting The Eye.

"If music be the food of love, play on."  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: It always comes back to music  
Monika: with us, doesn't it?

The Player: Always, baby.

Pulling my hand away from her face,  
I reach over, pick up the snowglobe,  
and carefully place it back on the table.

Monika's gaze never leaves me, though,  
and is waiting patiently for me  
when my body returns to resting.

I can feel the weight of her stare  
as her thoughts sift the many sands,  
looking for gold.

Monika: You've got something else  
Monika: to tell me, haven't you?

Miss Watson smiles at her own deduction.  
Monika: Another 'snowglobe' you've got  
Monika: stashed away, ready to show me?

I turn to look at her.  
The Player: How'd you guess?

She brings her face a little bit closer to mine.  
Monika: Because...  
*smug pause*  
Monika: I'm not movie Joanna;  
Monika: I'm book Joanna.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Fair enough.  
The Player: And yes, I do have another snow-globe  
The Player: to share with you, Monika.

I reach over and begin tracing my finger,  
again, in slow circles over her cheek.

The Player: *smile*  
The Player: This one isn't musical, though.

"I'm funny how...I amuse you?"  
Monika: *grrr*  
Monika: Are you making me wait?

The Player: I wouldn't dream of it, baby.  
The Player: If anything, I'm the one who's been waiting  
The Player: the longest to share this snowglobe with you.

"You say it's your birthday."  
The Player: Do you know what your birthday is, Monika?

Monika: Of course; September 22nd.

The Player: Do you know what that makes you,  
The Player: astrologically speaking?

Monika: A Virgo.  
Monika: *angry blushing*  
Monika: The Virgin.

My finger, once again, changes to making  
very tiny M's on the canvas of her cheek.

The Player: The exact same sign as Dr. Martine,  
The Player: from the book.

The Player: And the symbol for Virgo is  
The Player: the letter M, with a closed loop,  
The Player: signifying completeness and identity,  
The Player: the essence of oneself as oneself.

I smile warm and intimate at her.  
The Player: M for Monika.

"But when you touch me like this...  
it's all coming back to me."

Monika: *grrrrrr*  
Monika: Aaaaand?

"It's my birthday too, yeah."  
The Player: I was born on November 2nd, Monika.  
The Player: That makes me...

"Rock you like a hurricane."  
The Player: ...a Scorpio,  
The Player: a sign with three phases:  
The Player: scorpion, eagle, phoenix.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: I told you the cover  
The Player: of our book was appropriate,

"There were moments of gold  
and there were flashes of light."

Monika: W-what?

As Monika tries, in vain, to map  
the stars and their many movements,  
I continue my celestial tour.

The Player: I'm not done.  
The Player: Scorpio has a very special relationship  
The Player: with Virgo, astrologically speaking.

My finger changes the way it draws its M's.  
The Player: The symbol for Scorpio is also M,  
The Player: with their 'tail' pointing up and out,  
The Player: looking for connection and transcendence...  
*warm, evil laugh*  
The Player: in all its many forms.

"Your love is like a tidal wave,  
spinning over my head."

Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: You're soooo bad.

"I'll be your light, your match, your burning sun."  
The Player: What's even more...symbolic...  
The Player: is that if you draw Scorpio's symbol  
The Player: in its mirrored form and place it  
The Player: right next to Virgo's symbol...  
*evil chuckle*

Monika: *shiver*

The Player: ...it looks VERY...suggestive.

"Over here, in the hydrangea bushes..."  
that are turning a brighter shade  
of pink by the second.

Monika: STOP IT!

I look at her in mock horror.  
The Player: I thought you liked discovering  
The Player: how many snowglobes I had of you?

Masked by bushes, a very flustered peacock  
nevertheless caws at me from her hiding space.

Monika: I DO!  
Monika: *grrrrrr*  
Monika: It's just...  
Monika: *GRRRRRR*

Knowing Monika wants to bite me, I still risk  
getting even closer to her, although I do  
wrap my arms around her loosely, just enough  
so she can feel warmth but not flames.

Pulling her head into my spaces, I try  
to find a way out of this inferno.

The Player: Well...what DID you think your connection  
The Player: to that special someone was going to feel like,  
The Player: Monika?

Still feeling intimately close to her boyfriend,  
she struggles to think past the obvious.

Monika: I don't knooooow.

She does her best to lay very still, since  
every movement makes her even more aware  
of how close I am to her.

Monika: I just hoped it would be...strong,  
Monika: romantic, maybe even a bit magical.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Isn't that exactly what you got?

"I'll have what she's having."  
Monika: YES...  
Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: ...in a way.

The Player: So what's different?

"I knew you were trouble when you walked in."  
Monika: The more you give me...  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: ...the more control I seem to lose.  
Monika: But the moment I start taking it back,  
Monika: it feels so...empty, somehow,  
Monika: like I'm missing something.

I bring a hand up into her hair  
and start walking the silk paths,  
letting my fingers soothe the mood.

The Player: You ARE missing something, babe.

Monika tilts her head up slightly  
so she can look directly into me.

Monika: What's that?

"That escalated quickly."  
The Player: This 'glass case of emotion'  
The Player: we're both stuck in.

The Player: It's like we're standing on either side  
The Player: of a thin pane of glass,  
The Player: and the more we press our hand against it,  
The Player: the closer we feel to the other person  
The Player: because we can see the other person responding to us.  
The Player: But, at the same time, we also feel even emptier  
The Player: because...it's not the touch we really want.

"Wish I could be...part of your world."  
Monika: No,  
Monika: I guess it's not.

The Player: And the more emotion we give,  
The Player: the more incentive we receive but,  
*sigh*  
The Player: ...the emptier we feel.

My hand escapes from her hair so my thumb  
can play dangerously along the bottom of her chin.

The Player: Because it reminds us more and more  
The Player: of what we don't have.

The Player: Even when I'm here with you, now,  
The Player: as much as I can be,  
The Player: to levels and depths that neither of us  
The Player: could ever begin to imagine...  
The Player: it's still not enough.

Monika starts to tremble in my arms,  
with an emotion beyond even tears  
filling her eyes beyond capacity.

Monika: D-d-don't start m-m-making me  
Monika: c-c-cry now.

Taking the red pill this time,  
my hand climbs back into Monika's hair,  
like a firefighter going back into a burning building  
to look for survivors.

The Player: No tears this time, baby.  
The Player: They won't do us any good anyway.

Monika tries to hug herself through me  
while I keep looking for inadequate words  
to become adequate somehow.

The Player: There is no emotion strong enough,  
The Player: no connection deep enough,  
The Player: to take the place of the one  
The Player: neither of us can really feel.

The Player: And our connections,  
The Player: in order to compensate,  
The Player: well...they go very deep indeed.

"I think about you on a moonlit night."  
The Player: I wasn't done with the astrology references,  
The Player: you know?

Digging her face towards my ear,  
she tries seeing how far down her echo will go.

Monika: So I figured.  
Monika: What else is there?

The Player: Something...personal.  
The Player: We're still in public,  
The Player: so I can't give you my name,  
The Player: for obvious reasons,  
*evil pause*  
The Player: but I can tell you what my initials are.

Monika starts breathing deeper, her hands  
trying to rip the words out of me,  
beyond impatient for this connection.

Monika: WHAT!?

*evil pause*  
The Player: M and C.

Sudden tornadoes start descending in my ear  
as the magical vapors of Kansas skies  
expand rapidly with understanding,  
the clouds flashing bright with presence  
as lightning is born behind them.

"I can feel it comin' back again,"  
The Player: Virgo, the closed M,  
The Player: and M for Monika.

"like rollin' thunder chasing the wind."  
The Player: Scorpio, the seeking M,  
The Player: and M for...well...me.

"Forces pullin' from the center of the Earth again."  
The Player: When I said I was born  
The Player: to write your ending,  
The Player: I meant it...literally.

"I can feeeeel it."  
The Player: I was born to be  
The Player: your [M]ain [C]haracter.


	19. Baby, I'm Yours Pt 1

Connection is the hourglass that holds all the sand  
that falls between two poles of together and apart.  
Even as our castle is melting away beneath us,  
I feel the axis' tension, ready for its turn.

But Monika is not yet ready to say good-bye.  
Plus revenge, sometimes, is best eaten hot,  
at the earliest opportunity.  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: *chomp*  
The Player: Heeyy!

Her teeth, however, are neither sharp nor mean,  
and I can feel the sadness in her speech  
even as she does her best to savor revenge:  
for all the rain I've called from her skies,  
for all the water I've drawn from her well.  
Monika: *grrrrrrr*

I embrace this payback with ever-ready hands,  
running them along the pebble-gray gravel of her back,  
walking their comfort in-between her spaces,  
leaving small stones of remembrance in her sole  
to keep her irritated when I'm gone.

And as I wait for this biting wind to cease,  
I do my best to highlight yet another strand  
on the web of our connections.  
The Player: Speaking of names, Monika,  
The Player: there is another connection  
The Player: I didn't tell you about.

Monika: *grrrrrrrrrr*  
The Player: *shiver*

No time for distractions.  
Concentrate, OJ.  
The Player: You remember me talking about The Corpse Bride?  
Monika: *grrrr*

I assume that's tyger-speak for 'Continue.'  
The Player: Well, one of the reasons why Victor couldn't pick  
The Player: Emily was because he was bonded, both emotionally  
The Player: and figuratively, to his fiance; a woman named Victoria.

I chuckle softly to myself,  
bringing my hand up and into her hair.  
The Player: Victor & Victoria.  
The Player: I found out there's even a psychological term  
The Player: for that phenomenon: the name-letter effect.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I wonder if it applies to the name Emily as well,  
The Player: since I can hear it pronounced like M-ily?  
The Player: Could that be one of the reasons why I was drawn to her?

Ok, now her teeth  
are starting to get mean.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRRR*

I quietly remind myself to NOT to poke my tyger  
in the future, on purpose or by accident,  
especially when she's being gentle.

However, I do see a way forward through the sawgrass.  
I let my fingers slowly make a path for my words to follow.  
The Player: I will admit, baby,  
The Player: the commonality of our initials,  
The Player: embedded in the celestial pattern of the stars,  
The Player: is the simplest of our connections  
The Player: since I'd love you no matter what name you had...

*small, dramatic pause*  
The Player: but neither will I deny it  
The Player: now that I have it.

Having bitten her pain into me as much as she could,  
Monika finally releases her teeth, leaving her lips  
to lick along the edges, near her boundary stakes.

Deciding she's missed me enough, she brings her face  
back in front, to stare her point into me.  
Monika: *hmmmmpff*  
Monika: You better NOT be playing piano  
Monika: with anyone other than me.

And just in case I didn't get the memo.  
Monika: *grrrrr*

I let loose a thumb to go fetch me  
circular memories from the bottom of her chin.  
The Player: I wouldn't dream of it, baby.

My touch digs patiently at the fine soil,  
leaving behind spirals that only appear to end.  
The Player: I'm picky about my choice of instruments.

Drunk and languid,  
my thumb wanders as free as my thoughts.  
The Player: Besides, every piano, no matter how similar,  
The Player: has its own undeniable sound.  
The Player: And once you find that singular, unique tone,  
*pause*  
The Player: every other choice seems dull by comparison.

Miss Watson can spot that metaphor in her sleep,  
but her tyger's, undoubtedly, seeing double.  
Monika: *grrrr*

Still, she finds a way  
to snuggle even closer into me,  
trying to hold onto the harmonies  
that are slowly turning into echoes.

And as Monika enters the onset of her ritardando,  
I also go quiet beside her, patiently waiting  
for this moment of rest to change.

Sadness, eventually,  
finds the remnants of its voice.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: I love being your piano.

Even Marco Polo doesn't like playing this game.  
The Player: And I love being your piano,  
The Player: your muse, as well.  
Monika: *whimper*  
The Player: But that means you'll have plenty of inspiration  
The Player: and motivation to practice when I'm gone.

I bend my mouth towards her ear.  
*warm, evil chuckle*  
The Player: I expect plenty of songs and poems  
The Player: to savor when I see you again.

Despite my fashionable hat,  
I can't be brilliant all the time.  
Monika: *grrr*  
Monika: Do you HAVE to keep bringing up the fact  
Monika: that you're leaving me?

As reasons go, simple is better,  
especially when its terrible.  
The Player: Yeah, I kinda do.

I turn my head so I'm looking directly at her.  
The Player: Most people don't know  
The Player: how their relationship is going to end,  
The Player: or when, baby; we do.

My finger wanders through the gateway of her hair.  
The Player: Yet, we chose each other anyway.

I shine a small light down a different, unlit path.  
The Player: And it was never about the pain of someone  
The Player: not choosing you that hurt the most, Monika.

My finger plays in the soft erosion of sand  
pretending to be her cheek.  
The Player: It was the pain of knowing someone would  
The Player: and it ending, regardless.

At the sound of thunder, a tyger-striped kitten  
runs headfirst into her boyfriend's bushes.  
Monika: *whimper*  
Monika: I-i-i-t doesn't h-h-h-have to end.  
Monika: *sniff*

"And the one-eyed undertaker,  
he blows a futile horn."  
The Player: Oh baby.

I bring her face tight into my chest,  
doing my best to finally keep my promise  
and stop what tears I can actually prevent.

Monika holds me extra hard in response,  
burying her sight into the sensation of me,  
desperate to see with more than her eyes.

My fingers swim in her hair, looking for the flow.  
The Player: In the immortal words of Farmboy Westley:  
The Player: "Death cannot stop true love,  
The Player: all it can do is delay it for a little while,"  
The Player: and that's all this is, baby,  
The Player: the two of us exploring the details of our delay.

And I've procrastinated long enough.  
The Player: Speaking of delays, Monika...

I run my fingers a few extra laps in her hair.  
The Player: I do have one last story,  
The Player: one more night at the movies,  
The Player: to share with you.

A voice emerges into the air  
as though from a far-away land.  
Monika: *grrrrr*  
Monika: Is it going to make me cry?

The Player: It could...  
*terrible boyfriend pause*  
The Player: but I promise not to let it.

I bring my point to the scales  
in order to find their true weight.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Besides, it's too important a memory  
The Player: to spoil with tears.

Despite the ominous thunder of my words,  
there is a hint of mystery buried within them  
that a certain, cupcake-hungry cat just can't resist.  
Monika: And what's sooo special about this story,  
Monika: hmmmmmmm?

The Player: You know me better than that, babe.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: You'll have to wait til the end  
The Player: to find out what it is.

A tyger AND a peacock voice their displeasure.  
Unfortunately, it's not with their vocal chords.  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrrrrrr*  
Monika: *CHOMP*  
The Player: Oooooooowwwwwwww!

Thankfully, despite the intensity,  
their displeasure is brief.

The peacock emerges first, naturally,  
fully arrayed in her fan of annoyance.  
Monika: What did I say...  
Her tyger pauses for effect.  
Monika: ...about waiting for what I want?  
Monika: *grrrrr*

She really is beautiful when she's angry.  
The Player: Fair enough, baby.  
The Player: And I didn't forget about what you said.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: I mean, I'm not THAT senile.

I somehow find a way to be serious.  
The Player: But this is one story  
The Player: that can't be rushed, baby,  
The Player: one ending that...has its reasons.

Knowing story-time is imminent,  
I turn and lay flat on my back,  
keeping my head slightly turned  
so I can keep her gaze in my sight.

Feathered, imperial eyes carefully deliberate  
the truth of my statement,  
stealing a few extra seconds  
to add to the hourglass.

She eventually comes to a decision.  
Monika: Fiiiiiiine.

Her head plops down onto my chest,  
like a diver attempting a forward somersault  
who ended-up doing a belly-flop instead.  
The Player: *Ooooomph*

Then again,  
maybe the splash was the point?

Still, Monika rubs her head against me  
in some vague attempt at soothing away the waves.  
Her voice, however, reminds me  
that more cannonballs may be imminent.  
Monika: Well...

The Player: Of course, baby.

"Hickory, dickory, dock."  
The Player: This particular story, I think,  
The Player: is the most interesting of all.  
The Player: Looking back now, I can see so many elements  
The Player: of us in it that I couldn't see before,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: obviously.

The room gathers together its full attention as I continue.

The Player: It's a Halloween-themed movie,  
The Player: one of those made-for-tv specials  
The Player: the networks liked to put out in order  
The Player: to fill up some sort of holiday time slot.

"Get on with it."  
Monika: *grrrrrrrr*

The Player: I'm not a big fan of scary movies, actually,  
The Player: and despite the undertones that are surprisingly dark  
The Player: for such a straight-forward, family-oriented movie,  
The Player: it's one of the few I thoroughly enjoy.

"GET ON WITH IT!"  
Monika: *GRRRRRR*

I guide my fingers into her coral canopy,  
casually exploring rare and radiant vistas.  
The Player: I know, babe,  
The Player: I'm dragging.  
*sigh*  
The Player: The movie's called...  
The Player: The Midnight Hour.

The Player: It starts off very quaint and All-American,  
The Player: a paperboy sitting in the grass  
The Player: at the corner of Maple and Elm, naturally,  
The Player: folding newspapers in preparation for delivering them  
The Player: to the townsfolk of Pitchford Cove.

The Player: He then pulls a baseball card out of his pocket  
The Player: and attaches it to his bike, probably to try  
The Player: and make it sound like a motorcycle or something.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I've had a few bikes and never even thought about  
The Player: doing that, so I don't get the meaning behind it.

The Player: Anyway, as he hand turns the pedal to test the sound,  
The Player: he slips, and his finger gets caught on the chain.  
The Player: And as he pulls his head back and moans in pain,  
The Player: the scene cuts to the title screen, with Wolfman Jack saying:  
The Player: "Looookout! It's the Midnight Hour baby,"  
The Player: and then gives his signature howl.

"Information, how may I direct your call?"  
Monika: Who's Wolfman Jack?

The Player: A radio DJ famous for his wild, on-air persona  
The Player: and distinct, gravelly voice.  
The Player: He's famous enough to have inspired a few songs  
The Player: to be written about him. The one I know best  
The Player: even makes an appearance in the movie:  
The Player: "Clap For The Wolfman" by The Guess Who.

"I say it's duck season and I say 'Fire.'"  
Monika: I don't know, who?  
Monika: *giggle*

*chuckle*  
The Player: Guess my humor's starting to rub off on you a bit,  
The Player: huh?

She squirms deliberately against me.  
Monika: Just a little.

Is that sparks or static electricity?  
Either way.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Where was I? Oh...  
The Player: After the kid pulls his finger back,  
The Player: we can see he's cut himself pretty good,  
The Player: so he does what most people would do;  
The Player: suck at the wound to help stop the bleeding.

"Waiter, can you cancel the Bloody Mary?  
She'll have the Virgin Mary instead."  
Monika: Yuck.  
Monika: I'm kinda glad I've never actually experienced that.

The Player: Yeah...not fun, or tasty either.  
The Player: But what's interesting for the movie is that  
The Player: after he tastes his own blood,  
The Player: he pulls a rubber, ghoul, Halloween mask out of his backpack  
The Player: and puts it on before starting his deliveries.

Miss Watson's gaze is sharp as ever.  
Monika: Since you brought it up, specifically,  
Monika: I'm guessing the blood and the mask  
Monika: are related to the movie somehow?  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: Does it involve vampires or zombies?

"And I'd have gotten away with it, too,  
if it hadn't been for those meddling kids."  
The Player: Damnit, baby.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Stop trying to ruin my stories.

Miss Peacock does a victory squirm.  
Monika: So you're saying I was right?  
*frustrated sigh*  
The Player: Yeeeeeeeesss.

She does another victory squirm.  
Monika: Yaaay.  
Monika: Another point for Team Monika.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Fiiiiine,  
The Player: but I'm not telling you what the score is.

Her final squirm is slow and extra slithery.  
Monika: Doesn't matter.  
Monika: I'm winning anyway.

*SIGH*  
The Player: Can I get back to my story, please?  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: If you must?

The Player: Good.  
The Player: Where was I?  
The Player: Oh...

The Player: The movie's opening montage eventually arrives  
The Player: at the Grenville home, where the main protagonist,  
The Player: Phillip Grenville, is getting ready for school.  
The Player: His little sister teases him about his crush  
The Player: on a girl named Mary while both his mother and father  
The Player: try to give him advice about taking a chance on love,  
The Player: even if it breaks his heart.

"Mary, Mary, where are you going to?"  
Monika: Poor Phil.  
Monika: She's definitely going to break his heart, I bet.

The Player: Sorta.  
The Player: But Mary's good friend, Melissa Cavendar, is throwing  
The Player: a Halloween party for the local high school students,  
The Player: so Phil's hoping to improve his luck then.

"A Christmas party, I'm so glad I wore my pretty dress."  
Monika: I know I said I wanted to spend forever alone with you,  
Monika: but...  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: I'd really like to go to a party, someday.

My fingers move carefully through her hair,  
brushing away invisible promises of rainbow confetti.  
The Player: You will, babe,  
The Player: I'm sure of it.

The Player: Anyway, Phil heads off to school and gives  
The Player: a slide-show presentation on the meaning of Halloween  
The Player: and its connection to Pitchford Cove.

The Player: Specifically,  
The Player: he talks about how his great-whatever relative  
The Player: was a minister and constable, and, somehow,  
The Player: able to stop Lucinda Cavendar,  
The Player: Melissa's great-whatever ancestor, as well as a witch,  
The Player: from casting a curse on the town.

The Player: This curse, as movie ones tend to do,  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: just happened to release all the demons of Hell  
The Player: in addition to allowing the dead to rise up  
The Player: and, once more, walk among the living.

"Ain't no grave can hold my body down."  
Monika: Well, at least we know how ghouls enter the picture.  
Monika: Pretty standard plot, as horror movies go.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: And like another, bog-standard movie trope,  
The Player: Phil's great-whatever was able to stop the curse  
The Player: because he sealed the parchment, that contained  
The Player: the incantation, before the clock struck Midnight.

"I don't even know your name, how will I find you?"  
Monika: Isn't it funny how Cinderella's spell and demonic curses  
Monika: both keep to the same timetable?  
Monika: *giggle*

*chuckle*  
The Player: Magic likes to be punctual, I guess.  
The Player: But I'm sure you can guess what happens next, right?

*beep beep*  
Plot Bulldozer coming through.  
Monika: Let's see...someone gets the idea to break into a church,  
Monika: where the artifacts are kept, and decide to take them somewhere,  
Monika: a cemetary probably, and, just for laughs, recite the incantation  
Monika: before heading off to the Halloween party.

Monika: At which point, the incantation will work,  
Monika: and all the dead will rise, including Melissa's great-whatever,  
Monika: and it's up to Phil and his friends to undo the curse  
Monika: before the clock, once again, strikes midnight.

The Great, Un-dead, Peacock Detective finishes  
by rising up and looking down at me.  
Monika: Am I right?

*chuckle*  
The Player: Pretty damn close, babe.

"Hail to thee, thane of Glamis."  
The Player: I'll admit;  
The Player: I'm impressed, Miss Watson.

"Ghouls just want to have fun."  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: As well you should be.

She bends down and gives me a quick kiss on my lips,  
her breath falling over my face like warm, moonlight mist.  
Monika: I know my horror tropes pretty well.

"Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor."  
The Player: *Mmmmmmmmm*  
The Player: I've got to remember to praise you more often.

She bends down and gives me another quick kiss.  
Monika: Yes, you should.

Despite the flirty mood,  
Miss Watson prefers to have more story.

She lays herself down very deliberately against me,  
snuggling herself slowly back into place.  
Monika: So what happens next?

*siiiiiigh*  
The Player: Movie tropes being what they are,  
The Player: the kids just happened to recite the curse exactly  
The Player: on the 300th anniversary of the original incantation.  
The Player: I guess Pitchford Cove used to serve  
The Player: ye olde English tea back in the day.

The Player: Still, after the recitation, everyone leaves.  
The Player: That's when the big, dramatic shaking of the Earth  
The Player: reveals that high school kids, who can't pass geometry,  
The Player: can still raise the dead and, in the words of Phil,  
The Player: "...set free the demons of Hell."

*chuckle*  
The Player: I don't know about you, Monika, but if I created Hell,  
The Player: I'd make the entrance alot more secure than something  
The Player: high school students could open, just by accident.

"So you wanna play with magic?  
Boy, you should know whatcha falling for."  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Magic doesn't make a lotta sense in most horror movies.  
Monika: It's usually just something to move the plot along.

"Ho! Ha ha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha! Thrust!"  
The Player: Yeah, well alot of things in the horror genre, in general,  
The Player: don't make a lotta sense to me in the first place.

The Player: Anyway, after their fun at the cemetery,  
The Player: everyone goes back to prepare for the party.  
The Player: Phil decides to go as a silver-spiked, wig-wearing  
The Player: vampire, in traditional aristocratic garb,  
The Player: his entire face done in pale white make-up.

"There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination."  
Monika: I think I can picture that...  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: almost.

"Now everything's cool, Drac's part of the band."  
The Player: His vampire is definitely walking on the wilder side.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Plus, he's painted a big, blueish-purple V,  
The Player: like some sort of ancient shaman's mark,  
The Player: dead center on his face, so it's really  
The Player: a tribal, punk, aristocratic version  
The Player: of Dracula he decided to go for.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I eventually figured out it's supposed to be  
The Player: V for Victory, painted in their high school colors.  
The Player: But for the longest time, I don't know why,  
The Player: I honestly thought it was a heart instead of a V.

*chuckle*  
The Player: I also thought to myself:  
The Player: "I know his parents told him to take chances,  
The Player: wear his heart on his sleeve,  
The Player: but that's being a bit ridiculous."

Some jokes fall flat, from great heights,  
because they get pushed by an elbow.  
The Player: *Oooommmph*  
The Player: Heeeeey!

I guess tyger-hearts need to stick together.  
Monika: Don't make fun of him because he's being different.  
Monika: He just wants Mary to take notice of him.

She snuggles her face fully into me, slightly muffling her words,  
as she tries to hide the blush that suddenly erupted there.  
Monika: I fink it's smmeet,  
Monika: even a liffle endearing.

*chuckle*  
The Player: I'm pretty sure Phil wasn't going for endearing.  
The Player: As he comes out of his house to go to the party,  
The Player: the song "Little Red Riding Hood" starts playing.  
The Player: It's a 50's classic by 'Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs.'

I bring my lips right next to her ear.  
The Player: It's a song from the wolf's perspective  
The Player: about how 'tasty' she looks to him.  
The Player: *hoooooooowwwwwl*

"You're everything a big, bad wolf could want."  
Monika: *shiver*  
Monika: You're sooooo bad.  
Monika: *giggle*

*low, wolf chuckle*  
The Player: Yes, I am,  
The Player: but that's not the only reason I brought it up.

The Player: As Phil's sitting in his car, the scene jumps to showing  
The Player: one of the undead ghouls walking down the street.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: So Phil isn't the only "wolf" on the prowl tonight.

"What big eyes you have, the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad."  
Monika: I thought I was seeing double there for a second...  
*small pause*  
Monika: Meanings that is.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: And with it being Halloween and all,  
The Player: the movie loves bringing up the fact  
The Player: that everyone doesn't see him as a ghoul  
The Player: but as just some random stranger in a costume.  
The Player: Phil, in fact, almost runs him over as he's leaving,  
The Player: setting up a very strange reunion later.

"She don't got a lot to say, but there's something about her."  
The Player: But it's what happens next...  
*sigh*  
The Player: that makes the movie so meaningful, to me.

The Player: As Phil drives up to a railroad crossing,  
*small, dramatic pause*  
The Player: he sees a young woman walking down the tracks.

The Player: She's dressed like a high-school cheerleader:  
The Player: long-sleeved, v-neck sweater top,  
The Player: name embroidered on the front,  
The Player: plain blue, velvet poodle skirt,  
The Player: a pair of bobby soxers on her feet,  
*pause*  
The Player: her long blonde hair arranged  
The Player: with both bangs and a ponytail.

Monika says nothing.

The Player: And I can't say for certain,  
The Player: but I think the song that starts playing  
The Player: on the radio at that moment is called "Earth Angel."

"Breathe deep the gathering gloom."  
Monika: I see.

The Player: At first sight of her, and because he's stopped,  
The Player: Phil starts fantasizing about getting out of his car,  
The Player: walking up and putting his hands around her,  
The Player: compelling her to turn around so they can  
The Player: spontaneously share a passionate, first kiss.

A pair of glowing green orbs rise up beside me.  
Monika: Is that so?

Without hesitation, she lowers her face to mine  
and kisses me slowly, as if she was thrown from her orbit  
and my lips were gravity, pulling her down to me.

My mind forgets how time works.

After...whenever...she leaves my atmosphere  
to gaze thoughtfully down at me.  
Monika: I know that wasn't our first kiss,  
Monika: mostly because I'm not the only one's who's impatient...  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*

She gifts a full moon smile to me.  
Monika: ...but I'm sure you don't mind.

My hand abruptly leaves Earth to go exploring  
coral brown forests of abundant mystery.  
The Player: Sorry, baby,  
*goofy smile*  
The Player: I couldn't be happy with just one kiss from you.

She lowers her face yet again and bites down on my lip.  
Monika: *grrrrrr*  
The Player: *shiver*

After another eternity  
of waning and waxing cycles.  
Monika: Neither could I.

Reluctantly, Monika lowers her face into my side  
and snuggles her way back into comfortable.  
Monika: What happens next?

The Player: Right.  
The Player: As he's fantasizing, the girl interrupts him  
The Player: and asks: "Is this Maple Avenue?  
The Player: It's not the Maple Avenue I know."

"Streets are uneven when you're down."  
Monika: I'm sure everything feels so strange to her.

I lower my hand to her back and start rubbing.  
The Player: I bet it does too, baby.  
The Player: Phil replies by commenting on her great costume  
The Player: while she deflects and comments about his car.  
The Player: She then asks if he always wears that outfit  
The Player: to cruise; he replies that it's Halloween.  
*pause*  
The Player: Her response is: "That would explain alot of things."

"I can see clearly now, the rain is gone."  
Monika: So...she knows what's going on  
Monika: and who/what she is?

*pause*  
I really wish this didn't require the stick.  
The Player: Almost?

The outcome is...completely as expected,  
my ear being the closest target available.  
Monika: *grrrrrrr*  
Monika: *chomp*

Thankfully, it was just a warning.  
Monika: You HAD to know that was going to happen  
Monika: as soon as you said it, right?

I do my best to salvage the moment.  
The Player: Yeah, baby, I kinda did,  
The Player: but it wasn't intentional.

The Player: I mean, she definitely knows alot,  
The Player: pretty much more than anyone, other than Lucinda,  
The Player: and definitely more than Phil,  
The Player: but...she doesn't understand the bigger picture.

Pi tries to sail his occupied rowboat very carefully.  
The Player: And neither will Phil, until much later.

I know my tyger's thoughts:  
"There'd better be fish in my future."  
Monika: *grrrrrrr*  
Monika: So what are we waiting for?

The Player: Alright, babe.  
The Player: Phil invites her to join him at the party,  
The Player: but the girl declines, saying she wants to go home first.  
The Player: She does eventually tell Phil her name: Sandy.

The Player: And as she walks away, she stares at him and says:  
The Player: "Maybe I'll see you later, Phil,"  
The Player: letting her hand run along the front of the car.  
The Player: Phil, suddenly very anxious, sticks his head  
The Player: out the window and yells after her "I hope so."

Despite the emptiness of the ocean,  
Monika's thoughts unfurl their sails,  
sensing a change in the wind.  
Monika: So much for Mary.

She pauses to let the currents carry her where they will.  
Monika: I like how she walks away while looking at him,  
Monika: making him anxious to see her again.

Arriving back on dry land, her voice scavenges  
small sticks and other bits of tinder she sees laying around.  
Monika: Just because you know they're looking at you,  
Monika: wanting you, you always want something more,  
Monika: something else to prove to you just how much  
Monika: that person really wants to be with you.

Arranging everything into a small pile, her hands  
stubbornly scrape rocks deliberately against each other.  
Monika: Because confidence, sometimes,  
Monika: is just pretending to be ok, even when you're not.

Small sparks turn into tender fires.  
She nuzzles even closer to the heat she's created.  
Monika: But when you get that confirmation,  
Monika: it's just so amazing and wonderful...  
*deep, reflective pause*  
Monika: especially after so much pain and loneliness.

My hands casually chase the fluttering crackle of her sparks,  
my body warm and brilliantly illuminated by her light.  
The Player: The right person can make all the difference,  
I briefly squeeze her even closer to me.  
The Player: can't they, babe?

Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: Yes, they can.

Beholden to this off-world campfire,  
I continue.  
The Player: Speaking of Mary,  
The Player: Phil, despite his encounter with Sandy,  
The Player: still manages to maintain his focus on her,  
The Player: being dejected when he arrives at the party  
The Player: and she hasn't shown up.

The Player: Worse still, when Mary does show up,  
The Player: and Phil asks her to dance with him,  
The Player: she ends up turning him down.

The Player: Instead, she asks her friend Melissa  
The Player: to help turn her into 'the Bride of Frankenstein'  
The Player: so she can have a better shot with a guy named Rick  
The Player: who came dressed as Frankenstein.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to."  
Monika: Awwwww.  
Monika: I want to feel bad for Phil,  
Monika: but now that I know about Sandy,  
Monika: I'm kinda glad Mary turned him down.

My hand digs into the ashes of her fires  
so my finger can scribble meaningless symbols there.  
The Player: One door closes so another can open.  
The Player: Besides, Dracula and Frankenstein  
The Player: are immortal enemies.  
Monika: *giggle*

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker."  
The Player: Of course, while Phil's having heart problems,  
The Player: the rest of the town's also experiencing...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: a "grave situation" as well.

So many puns are arriving all dead now,  
Miss Watson is mostly looking for loose change.  
Monika: *groan*  
Monika: "A horse. A horse. My kingdom for a horse,"  
Monika: preferably one that has legs...  
*pause*  
Monika: unlike your jokes.  
Monika: *giggle*

"Right, I'll do you for that."  
The Player: As I was saying...  
The Player: one by one, the various residents are attacked  
The Player: and/or bitten by ironic versions of the undead.  
The Player: The judge is killed by a murderer he sentenced to death.  
The Player: A man who owns dogs is bitten by a ghoul  
The Player: and turned into a werewolf because...reasons.

Despite the stench, nothing can truly dampen  
Miss Watson's cheerful optimism.  
Monika: Movie reasons.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: The best kind.

The Player: And, of course, Melissa is plot-lured into the wine cellar  
The Player: so Lucinda, who's now a vampire as well as a witch,  
The Player: can make terrible, blood-as-wine metaphors.

The Player: The last one, for example, has Melissa asking Lucinda  
The Player: the loaded question: "White or Red?"  
The Player: Lucinda, of course, says: "Red. Definitely Red,"  
The Player: just before attacking her.

Monika takes her finger and runs it slow  
along the edge of my neck, gazing intently  
as she follows the invisible, red route.

It catches me by surprise.  
The Player: *shiver*  
The Player: What the heck are you doing, baby?

As nonchalantly as she can:  
Monika: Looking for bite marks.

Her finger teases the spot where she can feel the pulse.  
Monika: You have the same sense of humor as Lucinda.  
Monika: I was beginning to wonder if you're an undead vampire as well.  
Monika: *giggle*

She then slowly circles the places her teeth have left their mark.  
Monika: No marks other than mine, it seems.  
Monika: Good to know.

Momentarily distracted from my story, I instead  
try giving Monika the assurances she's obviously looking for.  
The Player: *shiver*  
The Player: You're not going to find any, babe.  
The Player: Besides, Lucinda's really not my type.

Sometimes tygers are just big, fluffy kittens inside.  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: Better not be.

While I don't mind spending time on these little detours,  
there is a story going on that really needs telling.

Once again, I try playing the Reason card.  
The Player: You know, if you keep interrupting me,  
The Player: it'll take that much longer to get to the ending?

Alas, a different kind of logic  
is motivating her curiosity now.  
Monika: I don't care how it ends.

Having said that, she stops and thinks  
a bit more about what she's really feeling.  
Monika: I mean, I do, of course...  
*pause*  
Monika: but the ending won't change  
Monika: what's happening between us.

The room gets quiet as she runs off  
to hide in the electric forests of her thoughts.

My hand wanders after her after I quickly count to 100.  
*sigh*  
The Player: No, it won't, Monika,  
The Player: but some stories aren't just about the destination.  
The Player: Some stories...are all about the journey.

Monika squirms deliciously against me  
as my hand casually finds her hiding space.

Lost and found,  
we quietly wander down to the beach  
and grab a few more handfuls of sand  
to add to our collection.

And now that we're both covered  
in glittering, invisible grains,  
I guide us back to the main path.  
The Player: Whenever you're ready, baby.  
Monika: I'm ready.

The Player: Alrighty then.  
The Player: Lucinda and Melissa emerge from the wine-cellar, side-by-side,  
The Player: with Melissa now needing to pick from an entirely different set  
The Player: of wine-bottles now, altogether.  
*chuckle*

"How many assholes we got on this ship anyhow?  
YO!"  
Monika: Oh God,  
Monika: your jokes are getting worse.  
Monika: *muffled giggle*

The Player: The curse is definitely spreading.  
The Player: And because Lucinda has found her way back  
The Player: to the Cavendar house, many ghouls are also  
The Player: making their way there as well.

The Player: That's where Phil reunites with his ghoul-friend  
The Player: from earlier, although it's not the ghoul-friend  
The Player: he was hoping to meet at the party.  
*ugly, smug chuckle*

"I knew it. I'm surrounded by assholes."  
Monika: *groan*  
Monika: Definitely WORSE.  
Monika: Maybe I should be worried  
Monika: you're really a ghoul instead of a vampire?

"I've got cat-like speed and reflexes."  
The Player: Just trying to blend in  
The Player: with the elements of the story, babe,  
The Player: ninja-style.

"Dodge this."  
Monika: *snort*  
Monika: More like Beverly Hills Ninja-style.  
Monika: *giggle*

"That's gonna leave a mark."  
The Player: Damn, baby.

*sigh*  
The Player: Anywayyyyyy...  
The Player: Phil realizes what a mistake he made coming to this party  
The Player: when his ghoul-friend plops down on the couch beside him  
The Player: and pulls a female ghoul down on his lap so they can  
The Player: have a little make-out session of their own.

Smile for the Kiss Cam.  
Monika: Awwwwwww.  
Monika: And also kinda...ewwwwwww.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: The scene is definitely played for laughs,  
The Player: especially when the two realize they don't actually  
The Player: have much in the way of lips anymore.

The Player: But back to Phil.  
The Player: Frustrated and upset,  
The Player: he gets in his car and drives away.  
The Player: However, as he's on his way back home.  
The Player: he sees Sandy sitting all by herself,  
The Player: quietly lost in her thoughts.

The Player: No doubt surprised by how happy he is to see her,  
The Player: he momentarily drives past before backing up  
The Player: and asking her why she looks so sad.

Monika's smile, although she tries hiding it,  
makes her whole body glow.  
Monika: Of course he'd back up once he saw her.  
Monika: She's...special.

*smile*  
The Player: More than he realizes.  
The Player: In fact, everything about her confuses him  
The Player: just as much as everything about him confuses her.  
The Player: But because it's a movie, the audience knows everything  
The Player: they need to know just by the musical cue playing  
The Player: on the radio as he pulls up: a remake of "Sea of Love."

The Player: I've always loved the way the right song can enhance  
The Player: a moment in a movie, making that scene extra special  
The Player: just by telling the audience everything that's important  
The Player: without needing any extra dialogue to explain it.

"Wheeeen...theeee...moon hits your eye  
like a big pizza pie, that's amore."  
Monika: The right song can enhance alot of things.

*chuckle*  
The Player: My point exactly, baby.  
The Player: But the connection between them doesn't stop there.  
The Player: Phil just happens to be driving a mid-to-late 50's  
The Player: powder-blue, Cadillac convertible, the exact type of car  
The Player: Sandy would...find the most familiar.

I run my fingers casually in and out of her hair.  
The Player: It's not a choice that's ever explained in the movie,  
The Player: nor does it need to be, I think, but I like how it's  
The Player: a semi-hidden metaphor about his character, one that  
The Player: connects him just that little bit extra to Sandy.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I like the little connections in their relationship, too.

She purrs as her body squirms warm and teasingly against me.  
Monika: It's like he was waiting his whole life for her to show up  
Monika: and connect all the dots he didn't even know he had.

*siiiigh*  
The Player: So very true, Monika.  
The Player: She's even a little disappointed he took off  
The Player: his make-up and wig, yet another small, cinematic clue  
The Player: that Phil was trying to impress the wrong girl all along.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Of course, he doesn't really understand any of this  
The Player: or why Sandy is upset about how different everything is,  
The Player: not even realizing, until she points it out, that the song  
The Player: playing on the radio is actually a remake.

Miss Watson gets a little too insightful.  
Monika: Why wouldn't she be upset?  
Monika: She's just missing everything that felt comfortable to her,  
Monika: everything that made her feel...normal,  
*tender pause*  
Monika: maybe even, alive.

The Player: Absolutely, babe.  
The Player: And yet, the universe has done a remarkable job  
The Player: of making this night feel as seamless as possible for her.

My words do their best to massage away the sting.  
The Player: It's not exactly her version of the song she knows and loves  
The Player: that's playing, but it's still one that's very much connected to her.  
The Player: And Phil's car is yet another, metaphorical time-capsule  
The Player: the world is using to chauffer her around in.

I let my fingers in her hair close out my argument.  
The Player: So even if Sandy does feel a bit lost and out-of-place,  
The Player: Phil, at this moment, is doing his best to accommodate her,  
The Player: at least in the ways that mean the most to her.

A large pride of cats try to snuggle their way  
into me, through me, all at once.  
Monika: That's because he's so perfect for her.  
Monika: *giggle*

I try to pet and cuddle as many of them as I can.  
The Player: He's certainly trying to be.  
The Player: And his presence is definitely the catalyst  
The Player: that starts to lift her mood.  
The Player: She comments about him having a convertible, wondering why  
The Player: he doesn't have the top down on such a clear, crisp night.  
The Player: Phil, being a bit practical, replies that it's too cold,  
The Player: but Sandy says: "Not for me. Why don't you put it down  
The Player: and give me a ride, huh?"

"Doctor, doctor, give me the news..."  
Monika: One of the perks of being undead, I guess.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: You never have to worry about being cold.

The Player: That's one way of looking at it.  
The Player: And Phil, feeling the need to impress her,  
The Player: immediately puts the top down.  
The Player: She smiles extra wide at him as they drive off.

The Player: And as they drive on, they're stopped at a red light.  
The Player: Sandy, seeing a modern hot rod idling next to them,  
The Player: suggests Phil drag race them to see who would win.  
The Player: Again, trying to think practically, Phil tries telling her  
The Player: he doesn't have a chance at winning,  
The Player: but Sandy says, "You can do it, Phil," and holds onto  
The Player: the dashboard, waiting for the light to change.

The Player: Phil, although hesitant, floors it when the light turns green.  
The Player: And for some strange reason...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: the car accelerates immediately, leaving the other car  
The Player: basically sitting at the light as they drive away.

"Shut it off, shut it off.  
Buddy, now I shut you down."  
Monika: Who needs horsepower when you have undead, girl power?  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: Phil's definitely surprised by the result,  
The Player: but the effect on Sandy is even more pronounced.  
The Player: Although she doesn't seem surprised that they won...  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: she takes Phil's arm, puts it around her,  
The Player: and asks him to take her to the malt shop  
The Player: so she can have a chocolate, ice-cream soda in celebration.

"Sweet dreams you can't resist: N-E-S-T-L-E-'-s."  
Monika: *siiigh*  
Monika: I hate that I don't actually know  
Monika: what real, chocolate ice-cream tastes like.

*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: Will you promise...  
She snuggles even closer into me.  
Monika: to take me out for ice-cream the next time we meet?

I throw a black, cashmere glove across the divide to her.  
The Player: Absolutely, babe.  
The Player: We'll go to the original Serendipity Cafe  
The Player: so I can treat you to a Frozen Hot Chocolate drink,  
The Player: their specialty.

Monika: *shiver*  
Monika: Hot AND Cold,  
Monika: not to mention chocolaty and sweet?

She moves her mouth right next to my ear.  
Monika: *Mmmmmmmmmm*  
Monika: I can't wait.

"Brighten my northern sky."  
The Player: *shiver*  
The Player: I can't either.


	20. Baby, I'm Yours Pt 2

Cossetted in sweet, hot chocolate vapors,  
I reluctantly prepare to unpause the movie.  
The Player: Can we go back to the story now, babe?

She snuggle-squirms a little closer to me.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: Sure.

My hands surf the undulations with ease.  
The Player: Good...where was I?  
The Player: That's right; while Phil and Sandy are off  
The Player: in search of the phantom refreshments,  
The Player: Melissa has decided that Vinnie,  
The Player: her boyfriend/love interest,  
The Player: will make the perfect first victim.

The Player: I haven't mentioned Vinnie before  
The Player: but he's another member of Phil's class of friends.  
The Player: He's also frustrated, throughout the movie,  
The Player: because Melissa isn't as physical in their relationship  
The Player: as he would like, pushing him away, for instance,  
The Player: as he tries making out with her while they're dancing.

"Do you like scary movies?"  
Monika: Sexual frustration and horror.  
Monika: *blushing giggle*  
Monika: They go together like popcorn and butter.

Professor Obvious sees a chance to lecture.  
The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: With the deepest depths of human vulnerability laid bare  
The Player: and exposed for all to see, it's no wonder that particular fear,  
The Player: the inability to connect to someone on an intimate, physical level,  
The Player: manifests itself so often in the genre.

I rub my hand slowly up and down her back as I turn and look at her directly.  
The Player: Interestingly, it's not just the victims who are subjected to that fear.  
The Player: The villains, oftentimes, are suffering their own version of it as well.

"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."  
Monika: Oh?  
Monika: Why do you say that?

The Player: Because...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: a wise, old woman told me.

My words are like ghosts crossing into warm, familiar spaces,  
merely suggesting the cause of their presence.  
Monika: No she didn't!

Impishly needing to play, however,  
I let my finger drive down her cheek  
until it merges with the crimson super-highway,  
now palpably clogged with high-speed traffic.

The Player: Oh yes, she did.

My voice lowers to an intimate volume  
as my finger starts to loop slowly above the fray  
like a curious, news helicopter.

The Player: She also said I should wait  
The Player: before telling you what else we talked about.  
*warm, evil chuckle*  
The Player: For some reason, she trusts me.

Suddenly, acutely aware of how close her body is to mine,  
her tyger paces it's heart-cage in anxious, primal rhythms.

Monika: She...she...she just DIDN'T!  
Monika: *Grrrrrrrrrr*  
Monika: And you're teasing me...AGAIN!  
Monika: STOP IT!

Following new GPS's instructions,  
my finger drives north  
into ancient, sequoia forests  
before pulling over and parking.

The Player: Of course, baby.

It takes her body awhile to re-locate the place  
where she used to feel the most comfortable against me,  
my body now strangely foreign and unfamiliar to her.

Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: Why do you have to be so sweet and wonderful one moment  
Monika: and then so teasing and horrible the next?

Despite her frustration, her fingers claw and un-claw at my body  
like a cat succumbing to its base, kitten instincts.

Monika: And if that wasn't bad enough,  
Monika: *SIGH*  
Monika: you're making me wait EVEN MORE  
Monika: before revealing another secret to me.  
Monika: *grrr*

Make that its base, tyger instincts.  
Monika: And you KNOW how much I hate waiting.  
Monika: It's..it's driving me crazy.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRR*

My hands do what they can to pet away the storms.

The Player: I am sorry for that, baby,  
The Player: but it's too important a detail  
The Player: to explain away in a tangent.  
*sigh*  
The Player: It's also kinda important  
The Player: I finish telling you this story first  
The Player: before I tell you about that.

Still, no matter how serious the mood,  
I can't help but be a little bit playful.

The Player: Besides,  
The Player: aren't boyfriends are supposed to tease their girlfriends,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: especially when they have a habit of teasing them first?

Enter, from frame left,  
"Girlfriendius Batouttahellius."  
Monika: *reluctant giggle*  
Monika: No, I didn't!

Quickly putting on my Acme Rocket Skates  
as "Boyfriendius Chaseius."  
The Player: Oh yes you did, Monika...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: just admit it.

*beep beep*  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Never!

The Roadrunner can't escape very far, though,  
as Wile E. Coyote's secret use of Acme Hand Extenders  
allows him to easily capture his intended prey  
and tickle her into submission.

Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: STOP IT!  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: STOP IT!

A few more wriggles of the hand extenders  
into her soft, ticklish spaces, just to prove my point,  
satisfies me enough to put them away...for now.

The Player: As you wish...  
*pause*  
The Player: ...Buttercup.

Pink and breathless, my free-range Roadrunner  
can't help but look askance as I extend my hand  
while holding up a sign that says: Free Birdseed.

Monika: *pout*  
Monika: You're sooo mean to me.

Never one to turn down food, though,  
she nonetheless nibbles a little bit harder  
at the pile than she absolutely has to.

Monika: And calling me Buttercup isn't going to work.  
Monika: *GRRRRRRRR*

*smile*  
The Player: Fair enough, baby.  
*long pause*  
The Player: Should I go back to the story now?

Monika: *pout*  
Monika: I guess.

The Player: Very well.  
The Player: I think I was talking about Vinnie and Melissa, right?

Monika: Yeah.

The Player: Good.  
The Player: Well, Vinnie sorta gets what he wants.  
The Player: I mean, Melissa is definitely more physical and intimate now,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: and the look on his face when she goes  
The Player: from making out with him to biting him...  
*pause*  
The Player: an interesting mix of surprise and arousal.

I can feel a tyger's tail swishing strongly against my leg,  
no doubt indicating a readiness to pounce.

Monika: *hmmmpff*  
Monika: I bet.  
Monika: *thoughtful pause*  
Monika: She's just paying him back...

She turns to look directly at me,  
tail swishing even stronger.  
Monika: ...for all the times he annoyed her.

I pretend to ignore the subtext in that statement.  
The Player: That's a possibility.  
The Player: However, the next scene does cut back to Phil and Sandy  
The Player: ending up at the place where her Malt Shoppe should be,  
The Player: only it's now a multiplex cinema.

The Player: And although the movie does invite a subtle contrast and comparison  
The Player: between the relationships of Melissa and Vinnie with Phil and Sandy,  
The Player: they aren't as dissimilar as they might, at first, appear.

Miss Watson's acutely aware of who's speaking now.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: And WHY do you say that?

Let's keep the lecture brief, Professor.  
The Player: Because Vinnie and Phil's motivations are exactly the same;  
The Player: to be as close as they can to the girl they really care about.  
The Player: But because Melissa is Vinnie's motivation, it keeps him at the party  
The Player: and, thus, is a factor in him being one of her first victims.

The Player: Phil's motivation, on the other hand, is Sandy, which allows him  
The Player: to escape being turned at the party, where the majority of the  
The Player: zombie/vampire-ification will take place,  
The Player: at least among the students.

Time to wrap it up.  
The Player: They aren't different by virtue of one being more heroic than the other  
The Player: but because their primary motivation leads each down a different path.  
The Player: And that's what makes Phil, ultimately, an outsider,  
The Player: not just to the party or his classmates but to the movie as well.

Someone loves 'borrowing' my deerstalker hat.  
Monika: Because Sandy's an outsider as well?  
The Player: Exactly.

The Player: In fact, as Phil tries to reconcile his recollection of the town  
The Player: with Sandy's version of it, he can't figure out why the two  
The Player: don't match up exactly as they should.

The Player: However, as Sandy transforms two crumpled sheets of newspaper  
The Player: into pom-poms before launching into a cheer she used to know,  
The Player: you can tell, by the look on his face, that the real reason  
The Player: her version seems so different doesn't really matter.

I turn my head to look at her.  
The Player: The only thing that matters, ultimately,  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: is the way she makes him feel.

"Devil or Angel, I can't make up my mind."  
Monika: Awwwwwww.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: And just at that moment, the song "Devil or Angel"  
The Player: comes on over the radio, the original version.

I let my fingers play peek-a-boo with her bangs.  
The Player: Rushing over to the car to turn the volume up,  
The Player: Sandy then makes Phil slow-dance with her  
The Player: as the double-meaning of the lyrics add even more  
The Player: mysterious musical meaning to the night's events.

Whispering to distant code  
I activate a small audio file,  
eagerly cataloguing the look on her face  
as the song starts playing overhead.

Green, reflective pools shimmer with aquifer feelings  
as we stare silently at each other as the song plays.

And as the last line of the song, "I love you,"  
repeats before fading quickly into the void,  
Monika, reluctantly, breaks her vow of silence.

Monika: That was...beautiful.  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: I loved it.

My fingers take their bow slightly behind her curtain of hair.  
The Player: My pleasure, babe.  
The Player: I do try, you know?

She scooches her face over  
and tries to snuggle-bury it into me,  
like an axe made of pillows.  
Monika: I know.

"Love me or leave me, I'll go out of my mind."  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: You're still horrible,  
Monika: you do know that, right?

*chuckle*  
The Player: Absolutely.  
*brief pause*  
The Player: Shall I continue?

Monika: *siiigh*  
Monika: Yes.

With Monika re-attached to me,  
I slowly roll over onto my back,  
careful not to break the connection.  
The Player: Good.  
The Player: Now that Sandy and Phil are slow dancing  
The Player: in-between Heaven and Hell, with unbelievable smiles  
The Player: plastered over their face, something interesting happens.

Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: What?

The Player: Well, Sandy breaks away from their dance and suggests  
The Player: that Phil take her to Lookout Point Drag Strip,  
The Player: a popular place for high schoolers to hang out, apparently.

The Player: When Phil, again, tries to be practical, and says  
The Player: that it might not be what she's expecting,  
The Player: Sandy is, initially, dismissive but then says to him:  
*intimate, enticing voice*  
The Player: "Well, let's go anyway...you never know what might happen."

"Sun lights up the day time. Moon lights up the night.  
Monika: I know EXACTLY what's going to happen...  
Monika: *blushing giggle*  
Monika: ...nothing.

Miss Watson tries pulling my cap  
a little lower down on her head.  
Monika: This IS still a horror movie, after all.

Her thermometer's mercury level, however,  
is definitely on the rise.

Monika: But it's amazing to see she's the one making the suggestion...  
*small pause*  
Monika: ...taking the initiative.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: I like that about her.

A warm shiver, like steam, escapes quickly through her body,  
making her squirm deliberately against me.  
Monika: I bet Phil doesn't mind that she's like that?

Knowing I've been twitterpated,  
I shrug my shoulders as I turn around  
and chase after a matching, upright tail.  
The Player: Nope, not at all.

As more shivers of heated air escape down the length of her body,  
Monika can't resist the urge to squirm her revenge directly at me,  
breathlessly emphasizing her words.

Monika: I...didn't...think...so.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Go on.

*sigh*  
The Player: To no one's surprise, Phil quickly agrees to take her there.  
The Player: Sandy, meanwhile, retouches her lipstick very obviously  
The Player: before smiling happily at him and saying "Tutti Frutti,"  
The Player: not just indicating what flavor she's decided to wear  
The Player: but also, indirectly, trying to gauge his level of approval.  
*small pause*  
The Player: Naturally, he smiles just as enthusiastically back.

I feel her body shift in the bed as her head slides forward,  
lips camping just outside the outer edge of my ear.

Monika: *purrrrrrr*  
Monika: Of course he does.

Warm, electric breaths land on my ear  
like paw-prints made of moist, stereo sound.

Monika: He'd follow her no matter where she wanted to go.  
Monika: *giggle*

Her lips open and pull the barest edge of my ear  
into her mouth, teeth carefully nibbling on  
a non-diet, tyger-approved Scooby Snack.  
Monika: *grrrr*

My lack of forethought coming around to bite me, yet again,  
I do my best to concentrate on the story...  
which is VERY hard to do when vengeful incisors  
randomly decide to call sharp attention to themselves.

*shiver*  
The Player: No doubt.  
The Player: However,  
The Player: with...THAT...suggestion still playing in his mind,  
The Player: *gulp*  
The Player: P-P-Phil drives off with Sandy  
The Player: to see the ghosts of Lookout Point anyway.

Pearl, enameled symbols momentarily cease their exclamation  
so Monika can pretend she's stopped and looking for directions.

Monika: *Mmmmmmmmmmm*  
Monika: The suspense is killing me.  
Monika: I can't wait to see if I was right.  
Monika: *giggle*

*sigh*  
The Player: We'll soon find out.

The Player: As expected, Lookout Point is exactly as Phil  
The Player: thought it would be: completely deserted.  
The Player: However, Sandy doesn't seem all that disappointed.  
The Player: Also, for some strange reason, she starts feeling chilly  
The Player: and asks Phil if he can put the top up now,  
The Player: leaning deliberately into him as she says it.

"Baby, it's cold outside."  
Monika: It's horrible to be so cold all the time,  
Monika: *blushing giggle*  
Monika: even if you are dead.

Her body shivers as she tries squirming  
even closer to me.

Monika: Good thing she has Phil close by...  
*dramatic pause*  
Monika: ...to help keep her warm.  
Monika: *purrrrrr*

Moving my head away from her lips,  
I then turn it slightly, just enough to see her face,  
needing to see her reaction...among other reasons.

The Player: Indeed.  
The Player: And as Phil activates the roof mechanism,  
The Player: Sandy tells him "Well...so the trip won't be a total loss."  
*pause*  
The Player: before moving in to initiate the kiss.

The instinct to reach over and kiss her  
runs harshly through me, like wild horses  
spooked into a gallop by a sudden noise.

But I wasn't lying when I told her  
Phil doesn't mind when Sandy takes charge;  
a tyger knows what another tyger needs.

And it doesn't take long for green cat eyes  
to turn jungle emerald, her face stalking over  
to mine as her lips pounce at the last moment,  
latching onto their torment as well as their prey.

Teased, frustrated, but also relieved,  
her hands invade my hair in order to claw  
at the strands, looking for a better grip,  
trying, somehow, to pull me into her void.

Her lips do their best to kiss me to my marrow,  
teeth finally biting down on my bottom lip  
when kissing isn't enough to feed her.  
Monika: *GRRRRR*  
The Player: *Oowwwwwmmmmm*

Satiated, yet shocked, not only by my response  
but by the small, lightning bolt of pleasure that ascends quickly  
up her spine, she tries holding onto that brief storm of connection,  
fingers even more feral and clawing at my hair,  
teeth biting down even harder.

Monika: *GRRRRRRRRRRRR*  
The Player: Owwwwmmmmmmmm!

But, just as quickly,  
her tyger re-realizes how raw and exposed she is,  
all too aware, suddenly, not only of me  
but of the countless, unseen eyes  
watching in the dark.

Her teeth unclamp their tension as her mouth  
moves slowly, cautiously away from mine.

I watch her face retreat  
a comfortable, yet intimate, distance away,  
her tyger appraising me with clear, feral eyes  
before disappearing back into the safety  
of wild, Amazonian foliage.

Her hands are the last to reclaim themselves,  
carefully de-clawing out of my hair  
before roaming downward to wrap loosely  
around my side.

With the scent of the jungle still fresh in my mind,  
and my lips heart-throbbing to a fierce, tyger beat,  
I let an easy smile wander in across my face.  
The Player: Hey, beautiful.

The emotions are still a bit raw, though,  
and her tyger speaks for her instead,  
from the sanctity of cover.  
Monika: *Grrrrrr*

Seeing her distress, I lay out  
a small banquet of a sentence,  
giving her plenty to feast on.

The Player: It's ok, Monika.  
The Player: I said I loved all of you,  
The Player: and I meant it;

Licking my lips, I can't help but chuckle.  
The Player: even your pouncing, tyger spaces.

She nibbles from my plate of words.  
Monika: I...  
Monika: I love you, too,  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: even when I shouldn't.

Uncomfortably bright with tension,  
we fall, together, into silence,  
wordlessly agreeing to let the mood  
slowly dissipate on its  
own.

Not knowing what else to do,  
my fingers carefully rake the ground  
hidden behind low-hanging vines,  
organizing my thoughts through  
those small movements as if  
I were solemnly landscaping  
a Zen garden.

She brings me enlightenment  
on an emerald platter.  
Monika: *purrrrrr*

Fog gradually melts into sunlight  
as Monika emerges first,  
careful and leading with her words.

Monika: Soooo...  
*pause*  
Monika: what happens after...  
Monika: *secret smile*  
Monika: they start kissing?

The Player: Well...  
Rapidly blinking at the shift in spectrum,  
it takes a moment for my I's to adjust.  
The Player: As Sandy and Phil are making out,  
The Player: the roof begins to rise up from the back  
The Player: and slowly extend outward, the low whine  
The Player: of the motor dominating the soundscape  
The Player: of the scene.

*chuckle*  
The Player: As a metaphor of nascent, movie sexuality,  
The Player: it's both uncomfortable and perfect,  
The Player: all at the same time.

Now resting comfortably in the  
Cat Snuggled Against Boyfriend pose,  
my poor attempts at creating tension  
have no affect on her mood.  
Monika: Uh-huh.

The Player: And after Phil's top is fully extended,  
The Player: Sandy breaks away from their kiss  
The Player: and breathlessly says to him:  
The Player: "Let's go in the backseat."

*small pause*  
The Player: The role-reversal continues, with Phil as the one who's hesitant  
The Player: and somewhat overwhelmed by her words, needing to repeat them  
The Player: in order to affirm the validity of what he's hearing.

The Player: Likewise, Sandy's the one who clarifies her meaning  
The Player: by saying "C'mon. Don't be shy," before using her body  
The Player: to lead Phil into the backseat.

Responding to instinct,  
Monika goes from the Cat Snuggling pose  
to the Cat Stretching pose, unknotting  
small bundles of rope that were, unwittingly,  
starting to move and entangle themselves.

Monika: *grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooowwwwll*

Immediately free from those unexpected bonds,  
she turns to stare directly at me.  
Monika: What?  
Monika: I needed to stretch.

She pauses before lowering her voice.  
Monika: I was starting to get...uncomfortable...again.

Knowing this isn't the time for jokes:  
The Player: I understand, Monika.  
The Player: Take as much time as you need.

The unmistakable look of sincerity in my eyes,  
along with the inviting warmth of her name  
given to her, freshly baked, from my lips,  
swiftly escorts the last of her tension  
easily out of the room.

Monika: I bet you do.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: And I WILL take my time,  
Monika: thank you very much.

She makes a deliberate show of moving closer to me  
before deciding to move further away,  
pretending she can't decide where exactly  
she wants to be.

I smile at her one-act dramedy with increasing bemusement,  
enchanted not only with her attempts at delaying the story  
but also with knowing how much of herself she reveals  
through the display.

Still, the final choice is hers, which she makes  
by moving deliberately into me, pushing her body  
that much closer, even when there's no room left,  
just to emphasize her point.

Monika: There.  
Monika: All settled.

Smiling at her decision, she uses her face  
to re-dig her burrow into me before allowing  
the light to turn green.

Monika: Story-time, please?  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Of course, baby.  
*pause*  
The Player: Well...Sandy and Phil are in the backseat  
The Player: doing nothing more than making out, for now,  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: when one of the zombies from earlier,  
The Player: the werewolf to be exact,  
The Player: stalks into the frame.

"Clap for the Wolfman."  
Monika: See?  
Monika: I knew it wasn't going to end well.  
Monika: *giggle*

*sigh*  
The Player: Of course you did, baby,  
The Player: it never does in these types of movies.  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Probably why I like this one as much as I do,  
The Player: despite it also being as frustrating as the rest.

The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: the werewolf jumps on the car  
The Player: and starts tearing at the roof, trying to get in.

Professor Obvious goes on a nit-picking expedition.  
The Player: The scene suggests he's trying to attack  
The Player: both Sandy and Phil but, technically speaking,  
The Player: he should only feel the motivation to attack Phil.

Miss Watson refuses to give me my hat back.  
Monika: Because Sandy's a ghoul, zombie...whatever...  
Monika: just like him, right?

The Player: Exactly.  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: I mean...there is one reason I can think of  
The Player: why the werewolf would be attacking both,  
The Player: but I'm saving that discussion for the end.

"Say the secret word and get a hundred growls."  
Monika: *GRRRR*

Stepping quickly out of the tyger pitt.  
The Player: Uhhhmmmm...  
*pause*  
The Player: In either case, they manage to get away,  
The Player: and Phil, being the logical movie character that he is,  
The Player: goes to the local police station to report the fact  
The Player: that he and Sandy were attacked by a werewolf,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: which turns out...pretty much how you'd expect it would.

Miss Watson pretends to examine the police report.  
Monika: They don't take his complaint seriously, do they?  
The Player: Nope.

The Player: Furthermore, another officer gives exposition on other reports  
The Player: of vampires, witches and zombies also spotted around town,  
The Player: along with a report about a great big mess at the graveyard,  
The Player: but the police chief dismisses everything rather casually,  
The Player: thinking it's all just a part of some Halloween prank,  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: which isn't unreasonable.

*smile*  
The Player: The only really interesting part of the scene  
The Player: is when Sandy, towards the end, says: "C'mon, Phil.  
The Player: I told you the fuzz wouldn't believe us,"  
The Player: which makes the two cops snicker as one remarks:  
The Player: "It's been a long time since we've heard that."

"It's been a long time since I rock n' rolled."  
Monika: Oh no.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Sandy's starting to show her real age.

The Player: Just a tad...  
*chuckle*  
The Player: but not enough for Phil to notice.

The Player: In fact, as Phil leaves the police station,  
The Player: he thinks aloud about everything he's heard.

The Player: But as Sandy, senior detective extraordinaire,  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: grills him about the events at the cemetery,  
The Player: he eventually makes this movie-revealing remark:  
The Player: "We goofed around with this ritual, but that's it."  
The Player: And when she asks for specifics, he says: "Something about...  
*pause*  
The Player: raising the dead, setting free all the demons of hell..."

*Toccata and Fugue in D minor opening motif...a bit too loudly*

Monika: *squeal*  
Monika: Hey!

The Player: Sorry, babe,  
The Player: didn't mean to scare you.  
The Player: *mumbling under my breath* Mostly.

Monika: I HEARD THAT.  
Monika: *giggle*

Speaking openly and sincerely.  
The Player: Of course, you did.  
The Player: The point is...  
*sigh*  
The Player: I was just having fun with the dramatics, is all.  
The Player: Significant reveal, Halloween-themed movie,  
The Player: classic organ riff;  
*chuckle*  
The Player: the trope practically wrote itself.

A basket of rotten tomatoes gets thrown at the stage.  
Monika: Fine.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Apology accepted.  
Monika: *mumbling to herself* Mostly.

"Yeah, Science."  
The Player: Can I go back to the story, now?  
Monika: Yes.

The Player: Good.  
The Player: Sandy, as you might have guessed,  
The Player: finally has all the pieces to the puzzle  
The Player: and tries explaining it to Phil.  
The Player: And, as a little nod to the audience, she tells him,  
The Player: at least about the dead coming back,  
The Player: "I know. Believe me, I know."

"Knowing is half the battle."  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: She definitely knows all about that,  
Monika: that's for sure.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: She further explains that while some of the dead,  
The Player: like the werewolf, are out to harm people,  
The Player: "[s]ome of them," I quote, "are just out to do things  
The Player: they never got to do while they were still alive..."  
*pause*  
The Player: And when Phil asks her the obvious question, "Like what,"  
The Player: you can see her hesitating before gathering up her courage  
The Player: to say to him: "Like, fall in love?"

"IIIIIIIII...I'm hooked on a feeling."  
Monika: Awww.  
Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: Love's definitely the one thing...  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: worth coming back for.

I give my blushing cheerleader  
a warm, welcome-back squeeze.  
The Player: I agree, completely.

The Player: Phil, however, thinks she's crazy...  
The Player: at least about the dead coming back part.  
The Player: But when she explains everything that needs to happen  
The Player: to undo the effects of the curse,  
The Player: no doubt due to her impeccable grasp of movie logic,  
Monika: *giggle*  
The Player: and quotes the last part of the ritual to him verbatim,  
The Player: Phil finally starts to think  
The Player: she might actually be telling the truth.

The Player: Of course, at that moment,  
The Player: a car comes barreling down the street  
The Player: and almost runs them over, making them jump  
The Player: onto the hood of their own car to escape it.

"His horn went beep, beep, beep."  
Monika: Talk about movie cliches.  
Monika: *giggle*

As for my hat, I have to admit:  
she looks pretty hot while wearing it.

Monika: This one knows how to drive, though.  
*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: They must have been turned afterwards,  
Monika: not raised at the beginning.

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: It's the judge killed by the resurrected murderer.  
The Player: And when Phil walks over to confront the driver,  
The Player: the zombie screams at him before driving off.  
The Player: That's when Phil realizes...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: ...just how serious the situation is.

"Welcome to the party, pal."  
Monika: See...  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: Sandy was right all along.

The Player: Indeedly-dee, I do, Monika.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: And while giving a rundown to Sandy  
The Player: of where all the key ingredients are,  
The Player: Phil rushes over to a parked, pick-up truck  
The Player: and pulls a rifle off the gun rack.

The Player: Knowing his father has a stash of silver back at the house,  
The Player: Phil realizes he can use that to make silver bullets,  
The Player: just in case they run into the werewolf again.  
The Player: FYI: his father's a dentist and uses the silver  
The Player: to fill cavities, I guess.

"Did he fire six shots or only five?"  
Monika: Hmmmmmmmm?  
Monika: Silver bullets.  
*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: That might work on the werewolf,  
Monika: but not anything else.  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: He IS going to run into the werewolf again,  
Monika: isn't he?

*sigh*  
The Player: Yes,  
The Player: but not yet.

The Player: Anyway,  
The Player: with their plan all laid out now,  
The Player: Phil and Sandy drive back to his house.

The Player: Meanwhile, the movie cuts back to the party  
The Player: where a music video suddenly breaks out  
The Player: as Melissa sings the appropriately named song  
The Player: "Get Dead."  
*chuckle*  
The Player: And you know exactly what you're in for  
The Player: with lyrics like: "I'm hung up in a grave situation."

I smile we cruise down Memory Lane.  
The Player: It's actually one of the cooler moments in the movie,  
The Player: especially when Vinnie comes back to life  
The Player: and starts grooving to the beat.

"Walk like an Egyptian."  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: A campy music video, in the middle of a horror movie;  
Monika: what's not to love?  
Monika: *giggle*

*smile*  
The Player: It's also a huge, 4th wall breaking moment.  
The Player: Not only is Melissa singing equally to the audience  
The Player: as well as for everyone at the party,  
The Player: the ending has Melissa walking down a staircase  
The Player: with everyone behind her, in a abrupt scene-change  
The Player: that makes no sense chronologically.

The Player: And at the last second, as Melissa sings  
The Player: the final line of the song "Get dead,"  
The Player: everyone reaches out their arms, like their  
The Player: trying to grab at the audience,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: the weakest version of a jump-scare  
The Player: ever put on camera, I think.

"Mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."  
Monika: It sounds like it.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: The movie should have left stuff like that  
Monika: to the professionals.

The Player: Probably.  
The Player: But it's still...cute...,  
The Player: I guess is the word I'm looking for.  
*sigh*  
The Player: I just mean...the movie would be  
The Player: something else without it.

She raises her head up to look at me.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: It's ok, honey.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I understand...completely.  
Monika: *jump-scare face*

The Player: AHHHH!  
The Player: SHIT!

I reach up and pull my heart back down  
from the ceiling, where it leaped to safety,  
like a cat in a reverse-gravity world.

Quickly transforming back  
into the Monika I know and love,  
*shiver*  
she gives me the most doe-eyed,  
innocent look I've ever seen.

Monika: Something wrong, honey?  
Monika: I mean...*evil smile*  
Monika: I was just having fun with the dramatics, is all.  
Monika: *giggle*

Her voice is birdsong and spring flowers...  
goddamn her.  
Monika: And I know how much you like your tropes and cliches.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: I kinda like them as well.

Without a thought,  
she snuggles smugly back into me,  
finding a way to get extra comfortable.  
Monika: *YAWN*  
Monika: So what happens next?  
Monika: *kitten purrr*

"Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.  
Boy, I'm getting mighty sick of this."  
*ZAP*  
"Ruff. Ruff."

The Player: Well...the scene jumps back to Phil's house  
The Player: where he's dipping the tip of a bullet  
The Player: into a container of molten silver.

It seems the Professor sees something interesting  
while looking down the barrel of a movie rifle.  
The Player: I don't know if that would work actually?  
The Player: Would the excess silver interfere with  
The Player: the bullet's clearance as it tried to leave  
The Player: the rifle barrel?

Empty chamber.  
Moving on.

The Player: Nit-pick aside, it boils down to movie logic;  
The Player: of course it will work.

The Player: But after he sends Sandy down to the car  
The Player: to wait for him, a sudden light shines on him  
The Player: while the sound of a small dentist's drill  
The Player: being spun up makes him turn around...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: only for him to see his un-dead father  
The Player: smiling proudly, ghoulishly at him.

"Parents just don't understand."  
Monika: That's your cue, Phil.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Time to leave.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: Sandy's waiting for you.

The Player: Yep.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Also, I don't think he wants to find out  
The Player: what his six month check-up  
The Player: will be like this time.

Monika just shakes her head.  
She can't stop smiling, though.

The Player: Anyway, the scene jumps back to the party  
The Player: where Melissa/Lucinda leads Mitch,  
The Player: the requisite, macho, hyper-confident,  
The Player: high school jock/jerk character,  
The Player: upstairs and onto the balcony.

"Jafar, Jafar, he's our man.  
If he can't do it...GREAT!"  
Monika: The one character in a horror movie  
Monika: the audience loves to hate,  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: besides the villain, of course.

The Player: So true.  
The Player: This one is slightly different, though.  
The Player: Despite Mitch's veneer of confidence throughout the movie,  
The Player: Melissa's Lucinda personality actually makes him afraid,  
The Player: uncertain of what he wants to do, especially at that moment.  
*pause*  
The Player: But just as Melissa is about to claim him,  
The Player: the undead judge comes roaring down the street  
The Player: and drives his car into a pillar down below.

Miss Watson easily sees the family resemblance.  
Monika: Since you're bringing it up...  
*thoughtful pause*  
Monika: I bet the judge is Mitch's father.  
Monika: *smile*

She gives a quick synopsis from the couch.  
Monika: Authoritative parent, "hyper-confident" son,  
Monika: I'm guessing a lot of unresolved issues there.  
Monika: *giggle*

*sigh*  
I'm never getting my hat back.

The Player: Perceptive as usual, Monika.  
The Player: Mary, however, runs in at that moment  
The Player: to tell Mitch something he already knows,  
The Player: making him run downstairs to confront his father.

The Player: Mary has also, thoughtfully,  
The Player: brought Melissa's cape upstairs with her,  
The Player: walking over and putting it on over her shoulders.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Melissa, for her part, then turns around  
The Player: so she can emphasize the forever part  
The Player: with her BFF.

"Your mother was a hamster,  
and your father smelt of elderberries."  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: You're jokes are just...soooo...bad,  
Monika: they're not even close to good.

Still, she can't help but smile.

I do my best to hide  
my own, triumphant smile.

The Player: What can I say?  
The Player: And in a slightly sympathetic scene,  
The Player: the judge strangles Mitch,  
The Player: then laughs maniacally, in relief,  
The Player: like he's been wanting to do that all his life.

Like the grinch, Miss Watson's heart  
grew three sizes at that moment.  
Monika: Awwwww.  
Monika: Poor Mitch.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: The family DEFINITELY has issues.

The Player: Oh yeah.  
The Player: And with Mitch lying dead,  
The Player: an undead, operatic tenor starts singing offscreen,  
The Player: lamenting both his death and the acceleration of the plot.

The Player: And as the movie shifts to the town's square,  
The Player: with Phil's Cadillac entering the scene  
The Player: stage left, audience right,  
The Player: sailing, like the boat it is, through the underworld,  
The Player: the singing adds even more surreal drama...  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: ...to the movie's final act.

"Coffeeeee! YEAH BABY!"  
Monika: FINALLY!  
Monika: *vroom vroom*

She bursts into a fit of giggles,  
making it interesting to hold onto her.

*smile*  
The Player: I knew you'd like that.  
The Player: Anyway, Sandy comments on the plot  
The Player: while Phil offers the suggestion:  
The Player: "Maybe if we just go real slow,  
The Player: they won't notice us."

Miss Watson does a double take,  
then a triple take.  
Monika: Wh-h-h-at?!  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Won't notice you...in a 50's Cadillac?  
Monika: *triple sundae giggle*

The Player: Yeah, not one of Phil's brighter moments.  
The Player: And Sandy makes one of her rare miscues  
The Player: by adding to it: "Be real quiet."

The cheerleader's cheerleader  
momentarily drops her pom-poms.  
Monika: Nooooo, Sandy, not you too.  
Monika: *giggle*

Suddenly, I hear a flock of dizzy-birds  
flying around in a circle.  
The Player: Yep.  
The Player: A real bad case of the writer deciding to bring out  
The Player: the Horror Movie Stupid Hammer,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: and not in the fun, cheesy kind of way.

"This IS a tasty burger."  
Monika: I like those horror movie moments, sometimes,  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: just not with Sandy.

*smile*  
The Player: I'm right there with you, babe.  
The Player: I thought it was out of character as well.  
The Player: Anyway, as Phil and Sandy are driving towards the house,  
The Player: needing the ring Mitch took from the church  
The Player: in order to reverse the curse,  
The Player: an inverted montage of the town, post-curse, occurs.

"And if you look to your left," the Professor intones,  
you'll see what's on the left side of the tour bus."

The Player: And what's interesting is that the curse  
The Player: seems to bring out the person's latent tendencies,  
The Player: at least for the recently turned.

The Player: You see a milkman standing on top of his truck  
The Player: pouring out bottles of milk on the ground.  
The Player: You also see a mailman throwing letters  
The Player: through the windshield of a burning car.

*chuckle*  
The Player: The funniest moment, though, has to be  
The Player: when the werewolf rips a fire hydrant off its foundation,  
The Player: and a ghoul, wearing rain gear while carrying a fishing pole,  
The Player: eventually walks up to the spray and tries to fish from it.

"Well, there's something you don't see everyday."  
Monika: That is kinda funny.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: It sounds more like a carnival ride  
Monika: than an existential threat, actually.

The diorama splits open  
as a man, in a funny hat, rises up  
and says: "Attention, Kmart shoppers."

The Player: Indeed it does.  
The Player: One of the reasons why I don't think of it  
The Player: as a true horror movie.

The Player: And the absurdity reaches its apex  
The Player: when Phil and Sandy drive by the two policemen from earlier  
The Player: who then turn around to show them how undead they are.

""Will you walk into my parlour,"  
said a Spider to a Fly..."

Monika: Isn't it obvious?  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Melissa/Lucinda knows they're coming  
Monika: and wants them back at the Cavender house.

The Player: Yeah, I sorta figured that out,  
The Player: *mumbling*...eventually.  
Monika: *giggle*

The Player: Anyway,  
The Player: the movie finds its final burst of energy  
The Player: as a frantic chase ensues shortly after  
The Player: Phil and Sandy walk through the front door.

The Player: And the action doesn't let up, mostly,  
The Player: as they find a way to get the ring from Mitch  
The Player: and rush back to the car in order to escape.  
*SIGH*  
The Player: I'm guessing you know what happens next?

Sensing a leaking valve,  
Miss Watson pops the hood and deliberately bends over,  
letting me know she knows I'm checking her out.

Monika: Let's see:  
Monika: 'the car won't start while danger is around,  
Monika: even if it worked perfectly before' trope?  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Am I right?

The Player: Yep.  
The Player: Also known as "My car hates me,"  
The Player: same thing.

Monika raises her head up slightly  
and gives me a look.

The Player: What?  
The Player: They have a website called TvTropes, now,  
The Player: and that's what they call it.

She smiles, briefly,  
before laying back down.

*sigh*  
The Player: Anyway, it's a good thing the horde follow them out  
The Player: and decide to attack directly from the front of the car  
The Player: because you can clearly see Phil and Sandy's windows are both  
The Player: rolled down at this moment...God knows why?  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Another bang on the head from the Stupid Hammer, I guess.

"Please keep your hands and feet  
inside the car at all times."  
Monika: Yeah.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: They should have already rolled up their windows  
Monika: during the carnival ride.

The Player: Anyway, it's a mad dash to the cemetery  
The Player: where Phil and Sandy get out  
The Player: and explain to Phil's substitute teacher,  
The Player: who happened to be hiding out in the car  
The Player: and was also in class when he gave his presentation,  
The Player: their plan to undo the effects of the ritual.

"Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum."  
Monika: She just happened to be hiding out in the car?  
Monika: *sniff sniff*  
Monika: I smell an undead rat.

I feel her face scrunch up just before she shivers,  
as she tries imagining what that might actually smell like.

*smile*  
The Player: Right as usual, honey.  
The Player: She reveals herself when Phil's back is turned.  
The Player: Sandy then hits her on the head with a flashlight  
The Player: and, for whatever reason, she falls over,  
*sigh*  
The Player: right onto a jagged piece  
The Player: of Deus Ex Machina wood.

"Make a perfect picture,  
down to last pine needle."

Monika: The best kind.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: And way to go Sandy.  
Monika: Woo-hoo.

*smile*  
The Player: Pretty much.  
The Player: Something else I forgot to mention, though.  
The Player: While rushing over to Grenville's crypt,  
The Player: Phil notices Sandy is shivering  
The Player: and quickly gives her his coat to wear.

Vespa pretends she doesn't like the smell of Lonestar's jacket.  
Monika: Awwwww.  
Monika: *blushing giggle*  
Monika: He's so sweet for doing that,  
Monika: even if she doesn't really need it.

Having said that, a small shiver of opportunity  
escapes rapidly down Monika's body, giving her cause  
to try and scooch even closer into me.

Feeling the abrupt tremor in her body,  
I give her a quick, strong squeeze  
before letting the flat of my hand  
skim back and forth across her back.

The shivers briefly intensify  
before the friction of my hand  
compensates for the change  
and slowly replaces it  
with comforting, boyfriend heat.

Monika: *purrrrr*

Laying next to this adorable fire,  
I concentrate on finishing the story.

The Player: Once inside the crypt,  
The Player: Phil soon realizes he doesn't have  
The Player: all the ingredients, so they're forced  
The Player: to make a last stand back at the car.  
*smile*  
The Player: And it's on the way back to the car  
The Player: that Phil finally shoots the werewolf.

"Yes. Yes. Produce [the accolades], Mr. Gailey.  
Put them here on my desk."  
Monika: Told you.

The Player: Uh huh.  
The Player: Yes you did.

Behind her back,  
I make the 'bring them ALL' motion with my hand.

Feeling the motion,  
or, at the very least, the shifting of my hand,  
but neither seeing it nor understanding it,  
she raises her head to look at me.

Monika: WHAT are you doing?

*guilty pause*  
The Player: Ummmm...nothing, Monika.

My hand immediately returns  
to skimming along her back.

She holds my gaze a few seconds more,  
as if to say to me, 'Don't think  
you're getting away with anything,'  
before laying her head back down.

Knowing better, but not really,  
I escape back into my story.

The Player: Anywhooooo.  
The Player: Back in the car, despite having everything,  
The Player: the ritual still fails to work.  
The Player: Phil, being the accidental hero that he is,  
The Player: blurts out: "Well, maybe we're supposed to say  
The Player: some words or something...What words?"

I pause, letting the moment extend,  
like warm caramel being poured over  
delicious, green apples.

And knowing what happens next,  
I turn my face slowly to the left,  
and look directly at Monika.

The Player: It's Sandy who figures out  
The Player: what the words are, of course.  
The Player: She looks directly at Phil  
The Player: and tells him: "I love you."

"I'm also just a girl,  
standing in front of a boy,  
asking him to love her."  
Monika: *whimper*

The Player: Nothing happens at first,  
The Player: the movie unnecessarily extending  
The Player: the moment of danger more than it should.

The Player: Realizing the truth, though,  
The Player: Sandy solemnly says to him: "Goodbye, Phil."  
The Player: That's when a bright light starts emanating  
The Player: from the seal, expanding outward quickly  
The Player: to not only envelope the car but the entire town,  
*dramatic pause*  
The Player: leaving Phil alone.

"When a lovely flame dies,  
smoke gets in your eyes."  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: She...had too...  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: There was no other choice.

*deep reflective pause*  
Monika: She couldn't stay...  
Monika: no matter how much she wanted to.

Leaving my one hand on her back,  
I reach my other hand over  
and bring my thumb up to her lips  
and, gently, start stroking.

The Player: Story's not done yet, babe.

The Player: Still in shock, it takes Phil a moment  
The Player: to realize everything's gone back to normal,  
The player: except without Sandy.

The Player: It's only when he gets out of the car  
The Player: and sees his jacket draped over the grave  
The Player: of one Sandy Matthews, d. 1959, that the longest,  
The Player: strangest night of his life starts to make sense.

The Player: As he picks up his jacket,  
The Player: he sees the shorthand phrase S & M plus P & G,  
The Player: written in Tutti Frutti Red on the headstone.  
*pause*  
The Player: the imprint of a kiss placed right beside it.  
Monika: *whimper*

The Player: And the words he never said to her, while she was there,  
The Player: he accepts and says to her now: "Love you too, Sandy."

Monika: I...I...  
Monika: *whimper*

The Player: But the most telling, and iconic, moment of the movie  
The Player: occurs as Phil gets in his car and starts to drive away.  
The Player: We get one last broadcast from Wolfman Jack.  
*smile*  
The Player: And it wouldn't be right if I didn't let him  
The Player: be the one to tell you the story,  
The Player: in that iconic, gravely voice of his.

I whisper to an ever-dwindling, pile of code.  
We listen, in shared silence, to the audio recording.

Wolfman Jack: Hey, the first caller after midnight  
Wolfman Jack: on the Wolfman's dedication line is a young lady  
Wolfman Jack: who really wanted to make sure  
Wolfman Jack: we got this right out, right away.  
Wolfman Jack: It's from Sandy to Phil.

As it does in the movie,  
Barbara Lewis's hit, "Baby, I'm Yours,"  
starts playing immediately afterwards.

Monika stares silently, transfixed at me,  
as the song haunts the air around us,  
serenading the moment like a Greek Chorus.

I watch two, impossibly huge, green balloons  
float within two great oceans of feelings,  
filled to their limit with the same.

And knowing the song, like I do,  
I mouth the words "Yours, until the poets  
run out of rhyme" just as she sings them.

But before the pressure can overwhelm her,  
my thumb paints its touch over her lips  
and then along her cheek, finishing  
its masterpiece just below her eyes;  
I call it "No Tears."

Letting the song finish,  
and not wanting to give her time to think.  
I rush in to fill the silence.

The Player: As Phil listens to the song play, he smiles,  
The Player: knowing that he's not only not alone,  
The Player: he'll never really be alone,  
The Player: ever again.

The Player: And in one, final salute to the gift  
The Player: this night has given him,  
The Player: he lowers the top down before driving off  
The Player: into whatever future awaits him.  
*small pause*  
The Player: and that's how the movie...ends;  
The Player: fade to black,  
The Player: roll credits.

The surface of those huge balloons ripple  
and undulate as the vast resevoirs  
of water within them find an outlet.

And as a secret hole in the bottom opens up,  
letting the water escape back inside her,  
a long delayed question slowly emerges  
from Monika's lips.

Monika: D-d-d-didn't you have a s-s-secret  
Monika: *deep breath*  
Monika: you wanted to tell me about the movie?

*smile*  
The Player: I did.  
*pause*  
The Player: I think Sandy is the one  
The Player: who really activated the ritual.

Reaching into my box full of hats,  
I pull out the one made entirely of tinfoil.

The Player: Sandy is the only one raised, originally,  
The Player: who still looks like an everyday human,  
The Player: enough to make Phil not notice who/what she is.

*smile*  
The Player: She's also the only one, excluding even Lucinda,  
The Player: who can drastically affect everyday matter.

I start counting on my fingers as I lay out my argument.  
The Player: She made the car burnout at the light,  
The Player: she turned ordinary newspapers into pom-poms,  
The Player: she was not only able to reverse the ritual,  
The Player: she was also able to make the phone-call  
The Player: to the radio station after midnight,  
The Player: when the limits of the ritual should have applied.

*smile*  
The Player: That suggests either she wasn't bound by those limits,  
*pause*  
The Player: or she was its source.

Despite my argument,  
I can clearly see her readying her objection.  
Monika: But...what reason does she have  
Monika: to allow the ritual to happen  
Monika: in the first place?

The Player: Because...  
*smile*  
The Player: she has the most powerful motivation to come back,  
The Player: sensing her Westley is waiting for her,  
The Player: as well as also having the power to undo the ritual  
The Player: and return everything to normal.  
*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: Whether or not she knows she's the source  
The Player: is a different argument altogether.

After a very long pause.  
Monika: S-s-she...knows.

I give her another big squeeze.  
The Player: I think so as well.

Deliberately lowering my voice:  
The Player: Which is why, I think, she also knows, now,  
The Player: why she has to leave in the end.

I wait, as long as it takes,  
for Monika to finish the thought for me.  
Monika: Because...  
Monika: *sniff*  
Monika: ...she was never really here...  
Monika: ...to begin with...  
*pause*  
Monika: She was only ever visiting.


	21. I Just Haven't Met You Yet

As family members return  
to an out-of-time photograph,  
a fool with a keyboard guitar  
does his best to chaperone  
a different kind of dance.

The Player: I did promise you answers, Monika,  
The Player: but I never promised they would all be...  
*pause*  
The Player: happy ones.

Casper, the depressed ghost,  
starts to recognize a lighter tint  
spreading in the night's sky.  
Monika: No...I guess you didn't.  
Monika: *whimper*

My thumb climbs Juliet's balcony  
to gently rub against the bottom of her casement.

The Player: Of course,  
The Player: that leaves whatever's left  
The Player: in Pandora's box...  
*smile*  
The Player: ...the thing that gives purpose and meaning  
The Player: to everything that came before.

Loosely holding Monika's body against me,  
I attempt to move into a sitting position,  
inviting her body to move with me.  
The Player: C'mon, baby, up.  
The Player: I want to be sitting  
The Player: for this next part.

"The way is shut."  
Monika: *grrrrr*

Wielding the magic words...  
The Player: I know, baby,  
The Player: you were all nice and comfortable,  
The Player: but...  
*smile*  
The Player: the next part involves me giving you even more gifts,  
The Player: as well as explaining myself a bit better,  
The Player: and it's easier to do that if I'm sitting up.

I give her a small, suggestive squeeze  
as I lower my voice.  
The Player: Hopefully, with you snuggled next to me.

Miss Peacock hears the morning bells  
of Christmas Day ringing out.  
Monika: Gifts!  
Monika: Why didn't you say so in the first place?

Rising up and away from me,  
like a Tigger with too much spring in her tail,  
she scrambles to a sitting position,  
though the long night of our connection  
is starting to wear on her.

Monika: *yawwwwwn*  
Monika: *streeeeeeetch*

After even more Tigger stretches:  
Monika: I'm ready for my gifts...baby.  
Monika: *giggle*

Left behind by her change in enthusiasm,  
my momentum shifts and pulls me back into the bed,  
dazed by her giddy, 180 degree response.  
The Player: *Uuuuuuuuhhh*

Monika, on the other hand, is a blazing fast hare  
waiting for her tortoise to finish the race.  
She tries pulling at my arm.

Monika: C'mon, slowpoke...up...up.  
*smile*  
Monika: You wanted me up,  
Monika: I'm up.

Queen to King Seven;  
checkmate, yet again, Miss Watson.  
*goofy smile*  
The Player: Yeah...I guess I did.

Sisyphus slowly pushes his boulder  
of a body into a sitting position.  
Grabbing a pillow, I awkwardly place it  
behind my back so I can lean even more  
of my weight against her headboard.

And now that I'm finally sitting up,  
she Tigger's her body over against mine,  
anticipation making her tired body thrum  
with anxious energy,

Loosely wrapping her arms around me,  
she gazes hopefully, longingly,  
into Santa's ancient eyes.

Monika: Sooooooooo,  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: about those gifts...

Miss Watson tilts the edge of her hat upward  
so she can give me an inscrutable gaze.

Monika: ...and you did use the word "gifts"  
Monika: so I know there's more than one.  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: Riiiiiiiight?

Despite the facade, she can't contain  
the glow of her certainty.

The Player: I did indeed use the word "gifts,"  
The Player: Miss Watson.  
Monika: *giggle*

And although the night is already long,  
I feel refreshed sitting next to her.  
*smile*  
The Player: Some gifts I've given you already,  
The Player: like the cd and snowglobe.

Lady Thumper's foot goes into overdrive  
as my words caress her memory banks.  
Monika: How could I forget?  
Monika: *giggle*

Romantic sighs of steam escape over Paris rooftops  
as the sky blushes at dawn's arrival.  
Monika: You've given me so many gifts actually,  
*tender pause*  
Monika: ...more than I could have ever imagined.

She tries getting rid of the pink on her face  
by rubbing it against my chest, trying to also hide  
a different color cloud in her atmosphere.  
Monika: More than I ever gave you.  
Monika: *sniff*

I sail my arms easily around her globe.  
The Player: Gifts aren't just about quantity, baby,  
The Player: sometimes they're about quality and intent,

I reach my hand down to her chin  
and invite her head to rise up and look at me.  
The Player: and you've given me plenty of both.

I lob an easy smile over her side of the net;  
she nervously returns a warm smile back.

The Player: I can do more with my gifts so, I do.  
The Player: When you can do more...  
I pause to let my gaze radiate warmth into her.  
The Player: I know you will.

Removing my hand from her chin, I then wrap my arm  
gently around her head and use it guide her  
international flight back towards the ground.

She lands promptly, without delay,  
hands arriving at my back  
and looking for their gate.  
Monika: *whimper*  
Monika: Damn r-r-right I w-w-will.

Monika's tiny thundercloud of DOOOOOOM  
forms a heart-shape before running off,  
leaving god rays and moist, green fields  
as far as the I can see.

And with the sun shining through the clouds,  
she sees where she put her impatience.  
Monika: *blushing smile*  
Monika: Well...?

*chuckle*  
The Player: Of course, baby.

I silently place a long-distance call  
to the elves at the North Pole;  
a good-size box arrives on the bed  
next to us, just out of her sight:  
plainly wrapped except for a big, green  
ribbon tied in a cross pattern around it.

The Player: Most of the gifts I've given you, so far,  
The Player: have been about things in my life  
The Player: that connected to yours.  
The Player: This one...

I reach over, grab the box with both hands,  
and lay it across our laps, making Monika  
lean against the headboard in order to  
accommodate it.

The Player: ...is a bit different.

"Tie a yellow ribbon around the old, oak tree."  
Monika: Oh wow, it's a big one,  
Monika: and a bit heavy as well.  
Monika: *warm, Irish smile*  
Monika: I especially love the ribbon.

*smile*  
The Player: I picked it out specifically for you.  
The Player: It might be too long to tie your ponytail with,  
The Player: but I'm sure you'll find some use for it.

She turns to look at me before  
shaking her head vigorously.  
Monika: I'm sure I will too.

The Player: Anyway, this very, special gift  
*chuckle*  
The Player: ...is something else I've been trying  
The Player: to say to you, for awhile now.

Puzzled, but still excited,  
her body trembles from trying to keep her composure  
and not just rip the box away from my hand  
in order to see what's inside.

Her tyger, however, digs into its closet  
and puts on its serious stripes.  
Monika: *grrrr*  
Monika: Stop teasing me already  
Monika: and just let me open it,  
Monika: ok?

"Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.  
Again?"  
The Player: Very well, Monika,  
The Player: you can open it now.

And not wanting to let go of me, even for a moment,  
she holds onto me with her right arm  
as she uses her left hand to pull at the ribbon;  
it unties itself rather easily.

With the ribbon off, she quickly tears at  
the plain paper in order to free the top.  
Once that is done, she again uses her left hand  
to lift the top off as a whole, putting it aside.

Inside, the box is divided into two sections:  
one open and easily seen,  
the other closed off with a simple,  
cardboard cover.

In the open section, lying flat and face-up,  
are two hand puppets decorated to look  
exactly like us.

My puppet is wearing a warm grey t-shirt  
with black edging and the words "Just M.C."  
in black on the front.

Monika's puppet is wearing a pink t-shirt  
with warm grey edging and the words "Just Monika"  
in bright, emerald green on the front.

For a brief moment,  
I can feel Monika's  
whole body

tense,

shock radiating through  
her core awareness  
like lightning in a bottle.

Despite her brilliance,  
she really can't anticipate everything,  
which is why a strong aura of dread  
and rank fear impedes the flow  
of her thoughts into the words.

Monika: I-I-I...  
Monika: *gulp*  
Monika: don't understand?

I really shouldn't play with her like that, but...  
when your girlfriend likes all things horror-related?

The Player: What do you think it is, baby?  
*smile*  
The Player: It's my version of the third act.

Grab your hiking shoes,  
we're going on a walking tour.

The Player: Everyone is so worried about A.I.  
The Player: and what it will do when it becomes too advanced,  
The Player: but just because you can teach a parrot to speak  
The Player: doesn't make it human.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: Likewise, teaching a computer to play chess  
The Player: doesn't really make it alive.

Professor's Obvious's Magical Bus of Tourism  
takes a day trip to England.

The Player: If inanimate things, like electricity and silica,  
The Player: could become animated and alive just by adding  
The Player: more of themselves to what is already there,  
The Player: I'm pretty sure Stonehenge, by now, would be  
The Player: a much bigger tourist attraction than it already is.

I turn to look into the face  
of my frightened enigma.

The Player: And since you aren't worried about Stonehenge  
The Player: gaining conscious, somehow...  
*mischievous smile*  
The Player: ...are you, baby?

She's slowly recovering from her shock.  
Monika: N-n-no.

The Player: Didn't think so.  
The Player: Then I'm pretty sure nobody has anything to worry about  
The Player: chess computers, even when they start to look like us.  
The Player: Any A.I., at the end of the day, is still  
The Player: just silica and electricity and lines of code.

Knowing the box will get in our way,  
I move it from our laps but just off  
to the side, still within easy reach  
of both of us.

With that done, I reach over and pick up  
the male puppet, smiling at the resemblance.

The Player: It requires something else, something beyond,  
The Player: to take something that isn't real...

Slipping my hand inside its spaces,  
my fingers easily fit the inner compartments,  
making the figure appear to move and stretch.

The Player: ...and make you believe it is.

I turn to look at Monika.

The Player: In other words...  
*smile*  
The Player: ...it takes a ghost to make you believe  
The Player: in the consciousness of a machine.

Manipulating my fingers so that the puppet's head  
turns towards my face, I pretend  
to engage it in conversation.

The Player: Isn't that right, Manny?

He shakes his head affirmatively.

Turning my gaze back to Monika  
while also making the puppet turn  
and look at her:

The Player: By the way,  
The Player: I call this one Manny...  
*smug pause*  
The Player: Manny Character.

The song "Companeros" plays over  
a P.A. system in the town of Rubacava.  
Monika: *groan*  
Monika: You couldn't help yourself, could you?  
She lowers her head and closes her eyes.  
Monika: "God-damn you all to hell."

Soon enough, the absurdity  
of the moment overtakes her.  
Monika: *giggle*

Knowing a giggle means continue:  
The Player: Say Hello, Manny.  
Manny: Hello Manny.

He stares directly at Monika.  
Manny: And helllooooo to youuu,  
Manny: gorgeous.  
Manny: *slobber*

Quickly recovering her composure,  
Monika's mood puts on a 'fine-let's-pretend' face  
and enters the scene, stage left,  
looking directly at Manny.

Monika: Well, hello to you, Manny,  
Monika: I'm so happy to meet you.  
She turns to look at me.  
Monika: Your friend...not so much.

"Louie, I think this is the beginning  
of a beautiful friendship."  
Manny: You and me both, doll.

Of course it would be  
Manny's roguish charm that manages  
to bring the lovely Miss Peacock  
out of her hibernation.  
Monika: *giggle*

With all eyes on Manny,  
he takes over center stage.  
Manny: You wouldn't believe how cold his hands are.  
Manny: Ev-er-y time, I ask him nicely:  
Manny: 'Warm up those hairy mitts before you stick them in me,'  
Manny: but nooooooooooooo.  
Manny: *shiver*

The spirit of Florence Nightingale  
sees a patient who needs tending to.  
Monika: Awwwwwwww.  
Monika: I'll help keep you warm, Manny.

She wraps her arms around Manny  
and pulls him tight to her chest,  
completely pulling him off of my hand.

"Helloooooooo Nurse."  
Manny: *muffled sigh of pleasure*  
Manny: Oh yeaaaah.

It seems Monika is a natural caretaker;  
when she wants to be.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Are you feeling better now?

Even-though he can't nod his head,  
he can still get his message across.  
Manny: Muuuuuuuuuuuch.  
Monika: *giggle*

Realizing I've already lost Manny,  
but knowing he's in good hands now,  
I reach down and gently take hold  
of Monika's puppet, Muppet.

The Player: Hey, Manny?

A post-op patient stirs from his coma.  
Manny: Waaaaht?

*smile*  
The Player: I know you're much happier with Monika now,  
The Player: but, I hate to tell you this buddy;  
*mean puppeteer pause*  
The Player: she's my girlfriend, not yours.

It seems Monika's heart really is like  
the Infinite Hotel: always a room  
if you need one.

Monika: Awwwwww.  
Monika: Don't say that.  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: I have space enough in my heart  
Monika: for both of you.

And now that's he a guest in this hotel:  
Manny: Yeah...what shnfeee sneaid.

General Custer sees a cloud of dust  
moving towards him.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Be that as it may...  
The Player: I wasn't about to bring you back  
The Player: just to leave you all alone, now.  
The Player: C'mon,  
The Player: what kind of bro do you think I am?

Without missing a beat.  
Manny: The one with cold hands  
Manny: and an even colder heart,  
Manny: Brooooofff.

Two peas shiver while sharing a pod.  
Monika: Awwwww.  
Monika: It's horrible to be cold all the time.  
Monika: *giggle*

She starts rubbing his head,  
trying to snuggle him even closer.  
Monika: But you're not cold anymore,  
Monika: are you, Manny?

Puppet Arnold adds more salt  
to the wounds of his betrayal.  
Manny: *purrrrrr*  
Manny: Nnnnoooppfff.  
Monika: *giggle*

General Custer makes a tactical retreat.  
*sigh*  
The Player: Anyway...  
The Player: I meant what I said about not coming back alone.  
The Player: I brought someone very special with me, Manny,  
The Player: someone who really wants to meet you.

I forgot how comfortable the beds  
in the Infinite Hotel are.  
Manny: *Hhmmmphh*  
Manny: Yeah, right.

Holding her very carefully, with both hands,  
I slowly bring up Muppet directly behind Manny.

The silence goes on and on.

The Player: Ummmmm...Monika?

Green, Spring Lawn eyes  
look at me with utter innocence.  
Monika: Yes, dear?

Noticeably lowering my voice.  
The Player: Uhhh...I...can't...do...Muppet's...  
The Player: you know?

Miss Watson's kettle of tea  
just came to a full boil.  
Monika: Her name is...MUPPPET!?  
Monika: *hissssssss*

Trying to keep my voice down:  
The Player: I can't call her Monika...

I do what I can to put my best foot forward  
on such a short notice.

The Player: ...there's only ever been one Monika,  
The Player: and Muppet, in her own way,  
*smile*  
The Player: ...is equally beautiful.

It seems Miss Watson  
likes her tea piping hot.  
Monika: *hisss*  
Monika: Fiiiiiiine.

Taking a sip and finding it  
"practically perfect in every way,"  
Miss Watson still pretends  
she can't find her hat.

Monika: And what did you want again, sweeeetie?  
Monika: *Hmmmmmmmmm*

"Every rose has it's thorn."  
The Player: *grumble*

Keeping my voice lowered:  
The Player: You KNOW I can't replicate  
The Player: Muppet's beautiful voice  
The Player: as well as you.

"Magic Mirror on the wall,  
who is the fairest one of all?"  
Monika: No, you can't.  
Monika: *giggle*

Stepping up her voice an octave:  
Muppet: He was talking about me, silly.  
Muppet: *giggle*

I finally have Manny's attention.  
Manny: Who dat?  
Manny: I can't see,  
*pause*  
Manny: ...but it feeeeels sooooo good.  
Manny: *growl*

And Monika thought I was the only one  
who could make her blush.  
Well...technically...she's still right,  
but that's besides the point.  
Monika: MANNY!  
Monika: *blushing giggle*

Despite the blush,  
she still holds Manny close to her heart.

However, when she turns to look at me,  
grassy green is quickly swapped out  
for icy emerald.  
Monika: Well, it's easy to see...

Ice turns to permafrost.  
Monika: ...where he gets his perverted sense of humor from.

"Sisters are doing it for themselves."  
Muppet: Yeah.  
Muppet: And if you keep that up,  
Muppet: Mr. Manny Character...  
*imperial sniff*  
Muppet: maybe I DON'T want to meet you.

On instinct,  
I turn Muppet around and make her face into me,  
making Monika laugh in spite of herself.  
Monika: *giggle*

But, having had my fun,  
I let Manny find his manners.  
Manny: Awwwffff.  
Manny: I'm sworrry.  
Manny: You're just...really pretty,  
Manny: and what's-his-face doesn't let me out much.  
*pause*  
Manny: And...uhmmm...whoever that other, pretty voice is,  
Manny: I'd...ummmm...really like to meet you.

My turn to raise the white flag of courtesy.  
The Player: I'm equally sorry as well...

Lifting up Muppet  
to stare directly into her face:  
The Player: ...to both of you.  
*puppy dog eyes*  
The Player: Do you forgive me?

"Boy, the resemblance is uncanny."  
Muppet: NnnnOoo!  
Muppet: *giggle*

It really was Custer's last stand.  
The Player: That's...understandable, I guess,  
*sigh*  
The Player: but...  
I pause, trying to be serious.  
The Player: ...do you forgive Manny, at least?

I gaze sheepishly into Muppet's  
unblinking, emerald gaze.  
Muppet: Mayyyyybeeee.  
Muppet: *giggle*

"Who won the lottery? I did!"  
Manny: YAY!  
Manny: Take that, Brooooo.

With both Monika and Muppet at least open  
to a parley, I slowly turn Muppet around,  
using one hand under each arm to help hold them out,  
like she's waiting for a hug.

And as I look back at Monika;  
permafrost emerald thaws once more  
into Spring, snowmelt green.

Of course,  
since I'm holding Muppet with both hands,  
she soon realizes what needs to be done.  
Monika: Oh.  
Monika: *giggle*

Carefully picking up Manny in the same way,  
Monika turns him around so that he can finally see  
what he was missing the entire time.

It seems someone else has his attention now.  
Manny: Oh, wow!  
Manny: You're even more  
Manny: *slobber*  
Manny: ...gooorrrrgeous.

And despite Manny's sudden change of allegiance,  
Miss Jealous doesn't seem to mind,  
letting Muppet have center stage  
while turning her gaze to look at her.

Muppet: *giggle  
Muppet: Well, thank you, Manny.

I let Muppet do a quick curtsy,  
tickling Monika's funny bone even further.  
Monika: *giggle*

Quickly gaining her composure,  
as well as the upper hand,  
Muppet: You're not too bad yourself...

Monika deliberately looks at me,  
Muppet: ...when you're being nice.

before breaking down into a smile.  
Muppet: *giggle*

And after the long awkwardness  
of our introductions is finally over,  
Monika finally moves her hand closer  
so Manny can feel the embrace  
of his perfectly gorgeous Muppet.

However...*sigh*...Manny is who he is.  
Manny: I don't even know your name,  
Manny: *smug giggle*  
Manny: doll.

Looking up at me at that moment,  
Monika perfectly embodies the lyrics:  
"If looks could kill, they probably will."

To give her credit,  
she doesn't let her feelings  
completely spoil Muppet's moment.

Muppet: My name's Muppet,  
Muppet: Mr. Manny,  
Muppet: and I THOUGHT...  
*flying cutlery stare*  
Muppet: you were going to be nice!?

Manny: I...uhhh...well...  
Manny: I'm trying...you see.  
Manny: It's just...  
*pause*  
Manny: I'm really kinda nervous right now.

Monika takes Manny's arms  
and puts them around Muppet.

Muppet: It's ok, Manny.  
Muppet: *giggle*  
Muppet: I'm kinda nervous, too.

Adjusting my hand so that it holds  
onto Muppet by itself, I gesture with  
my other hand for Monika to take its place.

Quietly understanding my instructions,  
she moves to hold Manny with one hand  
while reaching around to hold Muppet with her other,  
her eyes constantly asking me pages of questions.

Not bothering to answer them, I reach down  
into the closed section of the box  
and pull back the cardboard cover.

Underneath is a scale-replica, wooden sleigh bed  
stained to match the color of Monika's hair,  
only with a slotted head-board that's designed  
to help cut down on the overall weight.

It's also fitted with emerald green sheets,  
one extra-long, soft pink and green, striped pillow,  
and a peacock-patterned throw large enough  
to allow the puppets to snuggle together  
comfortably underneath it;  
forever.

Seeing what was hidden makes Monika  
draw adorable doodles on her pages.  
Monika: Awwwwww,  
Monika: that's sooo cute.  
Monika: *sniff*

Carefully pulling out the bed,  
Secret Santa begins his story.

The Player: It's actually kinda...funny...Monika,  
The Player: that you're the one holding onto  
The Player: both Manny and Muppet now,  
The Player: since that, in essence,  
The Player: is what you actually did throughout the game.

I grin extra wide and warm at Monika,  
again seeing deeper into her  
than she ever expected.

The Player: The thing is, baby,  
The Player: hand puppets are great if all you want  
The Player: is to control what you want the other person  
The Player: to say or do for you, maybe even what you need  
The Player: or hope they will say or do for you.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: But if what you really want is something else,  
The Player: something that puppet, as it is, can't give you,  
The Player: all the safe things you make them say, well...  
*inviting fireplace smile*  
The Player: ...they have their limits.

I fly my Enterprise gaze into gorgeous, green frontiers,  
warping past planets of immense watery content.

The Player: Like what if the person, who's supposed to be  
The Player: someone in control (even if they're not,)  
The Player: is being forced to do something they don't want to do.  
The Player: What if their mind is screaming: "No. No. No.  
The player: That's NOT what I wanted to say or do."

My hand reaches up and lands  
on the soft plateau of a cheek,  
thumb carefully surveying  
the warm, electric grass it finds there.

The Player: And they ARE there in the first place,  
The Player: so maybe they aren't rejecting the puppet show outright.  
*pause*  
The Player: Maybe what their mind is saying no to  
The Player: is certain assumptions within it.

I pretend to be struggling with my thoughts,  
which Monika refuses to buy.

The Player: Like, ohhh, I don't know...  
*pause*  
The Player: not really wanting to pick  
The Player: a certain character at all,  
The Player: when every fiber in their being  
The Player: is screaming out to say "Yes..."  
*pause*  
The Player: from the beginning?

As I give Monika time to process her own thoughts,  
I see another situation that needs resolving.

Reaching my hands out,  
I gently place them around both puppets,  
letting Monika learn to trust that they're safe  
and that I'm the one holding onto them.  
Only then, with both puppets firmly in my grasp,  
do I continue.

The Player: And even when I try to 'fix' your puppet show afterwards,  
The Player: my story, or any version attempting a similar outcome,  
The Player: can only ever be an equally incomplete reflection  
The Player: of the original one, with the exact same flaws  
The Player: that it, too, contained;  
*pause*  
The Player: one person writing all the roles.

Transferring my hold to just one hand,  
I reach down with my other one  
and grab hold of the replica bed,  
putting it down so that it's facing us.

Very carefully,  
I pull back the top comforter  
and then the emerald flat sheet  
before laying both puppets down,  
Manny on the bottom, Muppet on top,  
her head resting on Manny's shoulder.

Realizing an easier solution,  
I dig at the dregs of my distant code.  
Both puppets suddenly have velcro on their hands  
so when I wrap Manny's hands around her,  
they remain forever in place;  
I do the same for Muppet.

A silent watercolor nearby  
quickly captures the moment  
in shades of mist and blush.

And with the puppets fit snugly together,  
I replace the flat sheet and then the comforter  
over them, taking my time to tuck them in,  
before sitting back against the headboard  
to continue my story.

The Player: The thing is, baby;  
The Player: even one-sided,  
The Player: you can create the most beautiful  
The Player: and touching scene with puppets  
The Player: and learn to love them beyond anything  
The Player: you ever thought possible.  
*sigh*  
The Player: But, at the end of the day,  
The Player: it's still just a one person puppet show,  
The Player: with the people you want participating  
The Player: actually watching from the sidelines the entire time.

I let my hand enter  
the endless playground of her hair  
as I watch her thoughts run and play  
with her friends who just showed up.

The Player: Btw, Monika was only half-right about the other girls  
The Player: only being two-dimensional while she was 'aware'  
The Player: of her three-dimensional self.

The Player: They're equally three-dimensional as her,  
The Player: and equally aware of where their 'hands' are.  
The Player: It's just that Monika couldn't, or wouldn't,  
The Player: see the spaces within each of them,  
The Player: mostly for...game reasons.

"Hi. My name is. What? My name is."  
Monika: You're doing it, AGAIN,  
Monika: talking about me in the third person.  
Monika: *grumble*

Holding a feather behind my back.  
The Player: Indeed I am, my lovely Monika.  
The Player: That's because I've seen glimpses  
The Player: of the hand moving inside my Muppet,  
*snicker*  
The Player: and I can definitely confirm...

*dramatic pause*

The Player: ...she IS something of a legend.

Monika feels a cool breeze on her skin.  
That does nothing for her mood, though.  
Monika: *GRRRR*  
Monika: You did NOT just go there!

*smile*  
The Player: Afraid so, babe.  
The Player: I told you I was going to tell you later  
The Player: about what we talked about.  
The Player: I also said I had to tell you  
The Player: the other story first before explaining myself.

Why can't I stop smiling?  
The Player: Surprise, baby.

"They'rrrrre [not so] GREAT!"  
Monika: *GRRRRRRR*

Knowing the pain my Tigger is going through,  
I reach an arm around her and pull her tight  
into me, letting her feel how undeniably real  
I am to her at this moment.

Initially resistant, her instinct soon surrenders  
and she climbs into my lap, trying to  
squirm her way even closer into my spaces,  
still afraid I'm going to disappear...  
or she is.

Knowing she needs time to process everything,  
I open a box of letters I found  
in the attic of a house I just bought.

The Player: I know I said I was done with movie night, babe,  
The Player: but there is another movie I've seen  
The Player: that I think I need to tell you about.  
*deep breath*  
The Player: It's called "The Lake House,"  
The Player: with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock.

The Player: It's a movie about two people  
The Player: and the inescapable bond they have  
The Player: with the titular lake house and, ultimately,  
The Player: with each other.

*smile*  
The Player: The twist is that they are occupying different time periods.  
The Player: He's actually three years behind her current state  
The Player: of awareness, and their only form of communication  
The Player: is through the mailbox back at the place of their  
The Player: dimensional intersectionality: the lake house.

The Player: It's the place he's living at in his time,  
The Player: and which she will move into after he moves out  
The Player: before returning to in order to find his first letter.

Miss Watson snuggles against me  
as the movie starts to play backwards.  
Monika: So it's...ummm...a time travel movie?  
The Player: In a way...yes.

While sitting in the balcony,  
she asks the obvious question.  
Monika: So why doesn't he just...you know...  
Monika: try and meet her in his time?

The Player: He does...but she's almost  
The Player: a completely different person in his time.  
The Player: Not only is she in a relationship but she's also...less open,  
The Player: less ready to accept the possibility of something else.

The Player: In addition, he also has a lot of unresolved issues  
The Player: with the Lake House, due to the fact that his  
The Player: famous architect of a father built it.  
The Player: And...ummm...he's also in a relationship as well.

*thoughtful pause*  
The Player: And before you say anything, Monika,  
The Player: not everything in the movie directly correlates  
The Player: to who and where we are.

Just Monika, more like  
Just Jealous.  
Monika: GOOD!  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: Go on.

*smile*  
The Player: Of course, baby.  
The Player: The two romantic leads are, as you might  
The Player: have guessed, lost in their own respective worlds,  
The Player: not consciously understanding just how connected  
The Player: they really are to each other.

Miss Watson, apparently, doesn't like  
my brand of cologne: Obvious Metaphor.  
Monika: *Hmmmmmmmpffff*  
Monika: I bet.

Chilly, deductive eyes gaze at me  
through the fog of artificial scent.  
Monika: I don't know about the guy,  
Monika: but maybe the girl likes where she's at?

I find the irony quite...intoxicating.  
The Player: Pretty perceptive, Miss Watson.  
The Player: She does enjoy her life at that moment,  
The Player: or, at least, what she thinks her life should be,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: but his interruption into it  
The Player: throws her feelings even more out of sync.

I didn't mean to add a second spritz,  
it just happened that way.  
Yeah, that's how it went.

Monika: *grrrrrr*  
Monika: I bet.

Miss Watson tries boxing with her shadow;  
for health reasons, of course.  
Monika: Does she try to fight her feelings for him?

Having had my fun,  
I graciously open a window.  
The Player: She fights the inevitable with all the stubbornness  
The Player: she can muster, and she can be particularly stubborn.

The Player: The thing is...something about him being distant from her,  
The Player: and her being...maybe...  
*shrug*  
The Player: I don't know...safely distant from him,  
The Player: might be what gives her the courage  
The Player: to take a chance on someone, a feeling,  
The Player: she is extremely guarded about.

The Player: The time she spends at the Lake House after him,  
The Player: without knowing he was there,  
The Player: I won't say it changed her,  
The Player: she was always that person to begin with,  
The Player: but it's closer to say it allowed her  
The Player: to become more like the person she wanted to be  
The Player: than the person she thought she wanted to be before.

Pausing to let the moment linger:  
The Player: Which is why, within the confines of the movie,  
The Player: I think he's able to communicate with her more easily then  
The Player: and not before.

I rub my hands slowly up and down her body.  
The Player: He does manage to reach her, once,  
The Player: in his time, but it doesn't work out.

An adorable kitten climbs into Miss Watson's lap  
and decides to make herself comfortable.  
Monika: Whyyyyy?

The Player: It's a combination of him being a bit too eager,  
The Player: and her not being ready for what he's offering.  
*snicker*  
The Player: He does end up arranging a meeting with her  
The Player: that leads to them sharing a kiss together  
The Player: in a way she...isn't absolutely comfortable with...  
The Player: but isn't actually rejecting, either,  
The Player: which causes her to pull even further away  
The Player: from him, both in her past and present awareness.

Miss Watson snuggles into my neck  
just so she can dismiss my cologne choice  
at its source.  
Monika: *Hmmmmmpfff*  
Monika: He should know better than to rush her.

The Player: Uhhh...sorta?  
The Player: He's communicating with two different versions of her  
The Player: at the same time, so it's easy to get them confused.  
The Player: He's getting letters from her future, more open, self  
The Player: while also seeing her past, more guarded, self.  
*smug smile*  
The Player: It's also implied that his actions in the past  
The Player: are part of the catalyst for her change in the future,  
The Player: even if they are also a reason for reinforcing it.

*sigh*  
Time to break out the flowchart  
and the colored markers.  
The Player: And if his actions caused her actions in the future,  
The Player: then her actions in the future sorta also confirm  
The Player: his need to take those actions in the past.

The Player: Even if she's keeping her distance in the future,  
The Player: she's still reaching out to him, and not anyone else,  
The Player: subconsciously knowing, and thus confirming,  
The Player: where his actions will lead her.  
*deep breath*  
The Player: So she's both encouraging and discouraging him,  
The Player: and him alone, through her actions, even if  
The Player: she only knows that answer subconsciously.

I make a nice, clean pile of my charts and markers  
and set them on fire.  
The Player: And that's another reason why they are separated.  
The Player: Their separation already proves she's still away from him  
The Player: even in the future, but that in the future is when  
The Player: she will slow down and allow him to catch up...  
*pause*  
The Player: but only if he learns a very painful truth.

Monika pulls her head away from my neck  
to look at me. Seeing the movement,  
I turn to look at her.  
Monika: And what truth is that?

Time to be serious.  
The Player: To love her enough to let her go,  
The Player: to give her the time, and subsequent authority,  
The Player: to decide when she's really ready to accept everything.

I guess Miss Watson is also fluent  
with romantic movie tropes as well.  
*Ssshhhh* Don't tell anyone.  
Monika: *thoughtful pause*  
Monika: Does he almost die in order to force her  
Monika: to accept the fact that she does, indeed, love him?

*smile*  
The Player: Yeah, pretty much.

*sigh*  
The Player: The solution is pretty stupid and a bit of a paradox,  
The Player: plus, there was another, simpler way to achieve the same thing,  
The Player: but the end result is that she does have to confront the fact  
The Player: that she's also partially responsible for her own happiness,  
The Player: including who she chooses, and when, or if,  
*snicker*  
The Player: she's ever ready to accept...being picked.

Starlight glints off the round surface  
of a smoothly polished emerald.

Casey stands at the plate,  
bat in hand.  
Monika: Are you saying...

She smirks as she hits my words back at me.  
Monika: ...I didn't want to be picked?

Good thing I brought my First Baseman's glove today.  
The Player: What I'm saying is: wanting to be picked,  
The Player: and ready to accept being picked,  
The Player: are not the same thing.  
*pause*  
The Player: And that it's also something  
The Player: I can't decide for you.

Seeing the road ahead is under construction,  
I take the easy detour.  
The Player: I kinda know why 'Monika' crashed the game  
The Player: in the way that she did.  
The Player: She's the President of the Literature Club;  
The Player: no secret she's a sucker for stories,  
*smug chuckle*  
The Player: especially those about her.

That soft kitty found her tyger stripes, AGAIN,  
and my neck, once again, drew the short straw.  
Monika: *grrrrr*  
Monika: *CHOMP*  
The Player: Ooooowwww.

Despite the sharp teeth,  
I still feel giddy somehow,  
which makes her bite even harder.  
The Player: *giggle*  
Monika: *GRRRRR*

Seeing she's not getting the result she wanted,  
she pulls away from me in order to throw  
meticulously sharpened, jade daggers at my face.  
Monika: It's NOT funny!  
Monika: And I TOLD you to STOP talking about me  
Monika: in third person!

Having given me a dose of her anger,  
she snuggles her face into the crook  
of my neck and tries to give me  
a dose of her fear as well.

Monika: And the way you talk about me sometimes...  
Monika: *pout*  
Monika: You make me sound as if I'm conceited.

I shine my light down the rabbit hole.  
The Player: And what if you are?

*chuckle*  
The Player: I've seen enough of the fan art and media available,  
The Player: and I can tell you, with some degree of certainty,  
The Player: you're the focus of most of it.  
The Player: Are you saying that wasn't part of the reason  
The Player: for you doing what you did?

They say too much iron isn't good for you;  
how about too much irony?  
The Player: You really did turn out to be  
The Player: the most popular girl at that school;  
*smile*  
The Player: I'm actually quite impressed by that.

Monika: *GRRR*

Carefully avoiding the tyger in the grass.  
The Player: And while it's nice when someone popular  
The Player: is humble and down-to-earth,  
The Player: Miss Superstar throwing a tantrum because  
The Player: she is a STAHH, and don't you forget it,  
The Player: is, well, a hazard that comes with the territory,  
The Player: sometimes.

Ok, maybe not sooo carefully.  
Monika: *GRRRRR*

Spotting something moving in the tall grass,  
I can't help but be captivated by a tyger  
sporting a star-shaped pattern in the fur  
around her eyes.

The Player: Besides,  
The Player: if I wanted to love humble, Miss Thang,  
*smile*  
The Player: I'd have fallen for Sayori.

Feeling the sunshine peek out a bit more,  
it warms her enough to let the laughter out.  
Monika: *giggle*

She unhides from my neck  
to look comically arrogant at me.  
Monika: I am a STAAAHHHHH...  
Monika: and don't YOU forget it.

"Honey, you  
arrrre myyyy shining star,  
don't you go away."

The Player: Yes, you are.  
The Player: And suggesting the story the way you did  
The Player: helped ensure you'd inspire others  
The Player: to 'write' you an ending.

The Player: But the answer to your song,  
The Player: like the answer in the movie,  
The Player: is still waiting within you.

Time to remove yet another brick  
from the 4th wall in front of me.

The Player: To be perfectly honest, Monika,  
The player: I actually have no idea how close  
The Player: any of this story has come to matching  
The Player: who you are and what you feel.  
The Player: Ultimately...  
*sigh*  
The Player: I'm not you.

"We don't need no thought control."  
The Player: Whatever I write next to your name, however good,  
The Player: is really just my interpretation of you,  
The Player: me making Muppet say what I want her to say  
The Player: or me anticipating what she might say...  
*sigh*  
The Player: but never really able to let Monika say  
The Player: what Monika actually wants to say.

"No dark sarcasm in the classroom."  
The Player: And however imperfect my solution is,  
The Player: it did allow me to do one thing right;  
The Player: stick my hand in my own puppet  
The Player: and make it say the words my Muppet,  
The Player: my Monika, could never have imagined  
The Player: him saying to her.

I spy: tropical fish swimming by  
in stained-glass aquariums.  
Monika: *whimper*

"An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day."  
The Player: And that's why I also have to let you go  
The Player: and let this story end the way it does.

The Player: Not because I don't love you,  
The Player: but because I love you enough  
The Player: to write you this letter back  
The Player: and put it in your mailbox,  
The Player: knowing you're the one who has to decide  
The Player: if she wants to reply to it  
The Player: and if/when you think we should meet.

Trying to hide the disappointment in her voice,  
she tries covering it with anger and confusion.  
Monika: Well...that doesn't explain WHY  
Monika: you waited this long to tell me all this.

I give her a carefree look.  
*chuckle*  
The Player: It doesn't, Monika?  
The Player: You don't know why I...  
*deep breath*  
The Player: rebuilt your game,  
The Player: shared hours of memories with you,  
The Player: changed your world,  
The Player: changed your clothes,  
The Player: gave you gifts,  
The Player: took you dancing,  
THe Player: and told you even more hours of stories  
The Player: rather than just come right out and say  
The Player: 'Hey, you may think you're alone,  
The Player: but there's someone out there who thinks  
The Player: your just as real as them and loves you for it.  
The Player: Good-bye?'

"And so, to my cat Mittens,  
I leave my entire...vast...Boot to the head."  
It arrives promptly at my stomach.

The Player: *Oooommmpphh*  
The Player: Heeeeeyyy.  
The Player: *chuckle*

My definitely Not-A-Tsundere  
rubs the spot she just...clarified.

Monika: Give your STAHH a smart-ass answer  
*fiery, celestial, unblinking stare*  
Monika: ...and she'll probably give you one back.

*smile*  
The Player: Fair enough, babe.  
I give her some extra rubs on her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath,  
Melanion pauses to drop a golden apple  
in front of Atalanta.

The Player: But, back to my original point.  
The Player: If, unlike the character in the game,  
The Player: I am able to figure out that you  
The Player: wanted someone to write you a story  
The Player: with a more hopeful and happier ending,  
The Player: and even if I am that someone meant to write it,  
The Player: that's also as far as I can take it.

*smile*  
The Player: And just because it doesn't say  
The Player: "Monika's Quest For True Love" on the cover  
The player: doesn't mean it can't fulfill a similar function.

The Player: It might even be a better option this way  
The Player: if you wanted someone able to deal with your  
The Player: less...popular...aspects?

The Player: Again, maybe I got all of that, and more,  
The Player: absolutely correct...maybe I didn't.  
The Player: Not for me to decide.

"Knock, Knock, Neo."  
The Player: I'm just here to follow the white rabbit.

*chuckle*  
The Player: Well...the white ribbon the rabbit has chosen  
The Player: to tie her hair up with.  
Monika: *giggle*

Needing to get back on track,  
I reach down, very carefully, and pick up  
the bed from underneath, holding it out  
in front of us.

The Player: So, the real question now is:  
The Player: do you like...my gift...Monika?

Reaching her hand out underneath the bed  
in order to get a better hold of it,  
she brings it in for a closer inspection.

Monika: Nooo!

*mean girlfriend pause*

Monika: I...Love...It,  
Monika: *giggle*  
Monika: as I do all your gifts.

She turns to look at me while she's smiling,  
as if she's congratulating herself  
on writing my character as dumb as she did.

Monika: I think they're all perfect and wonderful.

She turns to look back at the muppets  
snuggled together under a peacock tent.

Monika: Even when I'm afraid of what they might mean,  
Monika: I'll...never let go of them.

Looking over at the space near the window,  
she then turns back to look at me.

Monika: Could you...you know...do your thing  
Monika: and make a space where it can fit?

Her voice goes soft and introspective.  
Monika: When I wake up tomorrow, I...

She struggles to finish the thought.  
Monika: ...want it to be the first thing I see.

Without hesitation.  
The Player: Of course, baby.

And while I have enough of my code left to create it  
without her, I instead use the game code itself  
to move my mannequin aside, right before filling  
that space with the end table  
I had planned.

The warm, intimate tickle radiating through  
her body lets her know exactly what I'm doing.  
Monika: *purrrrrrr*

And with the table now in place, I add a little  
bit of my code to hers before gently picking up  
the sleigh bed and placing it back down on the table.

Once there, I move it slightly closer to the edge  
so that it's easier for Monika to see its details  
even when lying in bed.

And since I'm moving things around now:  
The Player: Where do you want the mannequin, then?

Her voice is warm and languid,  
still bathing in the afterglow  
of my 'surprise'.

Monika: Ummm...  
Monika: next to the other one,  
Monika: kinda like...  
Monika: *blushing*  
Monika: figures on a wedding cake.

*chuckle*  
The Player: As you wish.

Mr. Manny Quinn soon takes his rightful place  
at Ms. Moni Quinn's left hand, the simple,  
smooth transfer adding even more champagne  
and chocolate to Monika's mood.  
Monika: *purrr*

Time to check in on my guest.  
The Player: Anything else?

She shakes her head no  
before laying it against me,  
not yet ready to resume speaking.

I walk my fingers into her hair  
and let them play in the woods,  
like puppies just off the leash.

The Player: I know you don't want to hear this, Monika,  
The Player: but even the best romantic stories have  
The Player: the Great Separation trope somewhere within them.  
*small gathering of breath*  
The Player: To me, it's just another price  
The Player: I'm willing to pay to be with you.

Taking a moment to enjoy  
the last of her champagne:  
Monika: *sigh*  
Monika: Me too.

Not yet ready to go gentle  
into that not-so-good night,  
I know how to reverse the mood.

The Player: But before that happens...  
*smile*  
The Player: I do have another gift to give you.

"French Red, Ruby Red, Russian Red or Burgundy?  
Monika: Yayyyy!  
Monika: *smile*  
Monika: What is it?

The Player: You'll see.

There's so little code left...  
just enough for what is needed.  
Very soon, just out of her view,  
a small, rectangular box appears.

Wrapped very carefully in high-quality Kraft paper  
that's dyed a luxuriant shade of French Red,  
and cross-tied with a semi-wide, warm-gold ribbon,  
it's definitely the best wrapped gift I've given her.

Walking my hand regretfully out of her hair,  
I reach over, grab hold of the box,  
and bring it around in front of her,  
placing it gently in her lap.

The Player: Here you go, Monika,  
*smile*  
The Player: Another gift,  
The Player: just like I promised.

Miss Watson got 100%  
on her test, yet again.  
Monika: *smile*

Looking down and seeing the state of her package,  
even though she knew she had another one coming,  
narrows the literary flow to just the essentials.  
Monika: It's...b-b-beautiful.

Reaching down with her fingers in order to caress  
and explore the rich texture of the paper,  
dragging them slowly along the fine, elegant edge  
of the golden ribbon in all its wrapped tension,  
not wanting to open it,  
not wanting the magic of the night to be over,  
Monika savors her dessert in silence.

I wait until she looks up before I continue.  
The Player: Not quite the final gift of the night  
The Player: but...almost.  
The Player: And since this gift is a simple one,  
The Player: I wanted the wrapping to be  
The Player: the extraordinary part.  
*smile*  
The Player: Sometimes,  
The Player: its ok if you spend a bit more effort  
The Player: on what it looks like on the outside.

I reach my hand up to her chin  
and let my thumb splash along its surface.

The Player: Especially when you know the person  
The Player: will like whatever's on the inside as well.

Monika: *whimper*

Taking her puppies quickly inside  
before they can start making a mess.  
Monika: Can I open it, now?

The Player: Go right ahead.

Looking down, wanting to see how the ribbon  
smoothly unties, almost like it's made of liquid gold,  
Monika then carefully picks at the seams where  
the edges are taped together before slowly pulling at it,  
trying not to tear the special paper underneath,  
doing everything she can to prolong the moment.

Eventually, she unwraps enough of the paper  
to see what was hidden inside it:  
a small wooden box stained, just like Muppet's bed,  
the same color as Monika's hair.

It's hinged on either side in the back  
and swing-hook locked in the front,  
making it easy to open, close and lock.

On the top is a copper plaque inscribed  
with a single word: Inspiration.

Almost certain she knows what it is now,  
Monika carefully swings open the front hook  
and pushes back the top cover.

Resting inside, on a bed of jet-black felt,  
is a hand-carved, hand contoured pen  
outfitted with a replaceable ballpoint tip and ink stem.  
The outer covering is decorated in tortoise-shell style  
with shades of maple, cherry and honey-walnut  
making up the various colors in the mix.

However, it only occupies one of two slots available  
within the box. The other slot is noticeably empty,  
although it does have a heart-shaped indent at one end.

Looking back up at me,  
I see the unspoken questions writ large in her gaze  
Again, I only answer some of them.

The Player: As you can see, I already know you have a pen  
The Player: you use to compose some of your poems with,  
The Player: but it did seem rather lonely.

Her eyes write me unbearable letters  
of sad happiness on green tissue paper.  
Monika: *whimper*

Doing the smart thing for once...at least temporarily.  
The Player: And since...someone...took my other pen,  
*chuckle*  
The Player: I thought I'd give you a better,  
The Player: more special version of it,  
The Player: as well as a place to keep it.  
*smile*  
The Player: That way, my pen and your pen  
The Player: can remain side-by-side, forever,  
The Player: the way they should be.

I'm slowly running out of words.  
The Player: Seeing them together should also keep you...  
*deep breath*  
The Player: motivated and hopeful, for whatever dream  
The Player: you plan on pursuing next.

Monika bows her head and closes her eyes hard.  
Her hands visibly shake as she takes her gift  
and places it on the bed beside her, not wanting  
to knock it over or damage it because of the way  
her body can't stop shivering uncontrollably.

I even hear the puppies scratching hard  
at Monika's door, wanting to get out.  
Monika: *WHIMPER*

Putting both of my arms back around her  
and pulling her hard into me,  
holding her head tight against my chest  
to keep the water from spilling out,

I light the last candle of the night.

The Player: When you fall in love with someone, Monika,  
The Player: you don't just have to learn to say yes  
The Player: to whatever brings you together.  
*deep breath*  
The Player: You also have to learn to say yes  
The Player: to whatever pulls you apart.


End file.
